Needle and Thread
by OrdinaryFreak00
Summary: At 17 I had believed in 'true love'. Now, 10 years later, not so much. I had slowly given up on the scenario of finding love in my life, despite my friends' incessant attempts to change that. So, it came as a surprise to everyone that they had exactly nothing to do with it when I found him. Not to anyone's surprise, though, it was not nearly as easy as I had thought as a teenager.
1. Chapter 1

**Needle & Thread  
**

 **Why, hello! And welcome to my very second story called Needle and Thread! First, off, I'm very excited about this story, BUT as some of you know - the ones from my prior story, Porcelain and Warm Honey - you will have to be quite patient with me during this story. I of course promise that I will not abandon this, ever, but I am starting at a new... call it a boarding school tomorrow(!) so I won't have much time to write. I am currently at the ninth chapter, though, and so far I am really enjoying writing this story, so hopefully I'll steal some time from my busy schedule.**

 **This time I've tried something new, and I've made it in first person narrator, and it will mostly follow Kurt - sometimes it will change a bit, though. But this first chapter is sort of the introduction to what is waiting. I don't really like to write too angsty stuff, but I like my drama, just so you know what to expect from this story (I know I like that before starting anything).**

 **I really hope you will enjoy/read it at all!**

 **Since I'm only me and English is not my first language, I am sorry for any mistakes that might occur, but please try to look past them. Thank you!**

 **Now I'll let you read.**

 **Disclaimer: Not mine.**

* * *

Chapter 1

"I come bearing gifts!" Rachel exclaimed as greeting, before sitting down at our customary table. She kissed my cheek briefly and I suppressed a sigh.

After having Rachel Berry in my life for ten years, I'd come to know what her definitions of 'gifts' were; the first – and my personal favorite – she had found the piece of clothing I'd been dying to buy on knock-off somewhere, which I knew this wasn't due to her slightly too excited eyes (Rachel Berry never got that excited when she wasn't involved herself).

The second; she had somehow gotten me an audition to some play, because of the 'connections' her character in her current musical had given her – the one of which I always had to remind her that I wasn't interested in because _I did not act anymore_.

And then we came to the famous third, and also the one I knew it to be this time: the matchmaking (or privacy interferer as I liked to call it). Ever since she and Finn had figured their stuff out, she wouldn't shut up about my love life – or lack thereof – and no matter how many times I begged her to _mind her own business,_ she somehow seemed to perceive the exact opposite message every time.

"No," I said plainly before she could shrug off her jacket and hang it on the chair. "I don't care which kind of perfect he is this time Rach, the answer is and will remain no."

"But Kuurt," she practically whined, and yes, she was twenty-seven I had to remind himself for the umpteenth time ever since her birthday last month. "This one's perfect I know it!"

I just rolled my eyes and rose from my seat, ordering coffee for us both. After five years of annual Tuesday-dates, we knew this place well, and I knew our coffee orders by heart. When I came back, she was still pouting excessively. I placed the coffee in front of her and ignored it.

"So, how's the play going?" I asked nonchalantly, cupping the to-stay mug between my hands, warming them a bit – I always had cold hands; it was a weird quirk of mine.

"You are not deflecting, Kurt Hummel," she said with her once scary stern voice. After said ten years – and practice on my own, which had gotten so much better than hers now – I had grown immune to it.

"Indeed," I said and sent her a look.

"Kurt, come on, you need to get back on the horse! Ever since Derek you just gave up on love," she said and her voice had grown softer; this was her 'I'm-being-your-best-friend-now' voice.

I just shrugged and sipped of my coffee. It was true, but contrary to Rachel's belief it was not because of heartbreak or needed closure; I just figured that after all love wasn't worth the struggle. I mean, yes I loved him, but those feelings did in no way make up for all the times he could be the most annoying creature on earth. We ended pretty nastily, but I had found myself relieved. Free. And after that, I knew love wasn't something I needed. Quite the opposite actually; it made me feel caged and pressured, like I had to be someone I wasn't, and even when the sex was great, it was never enough for me to want to stay with the guy (and one night stands were generally not my thing, so I had lived in celibacy for about three years now. Miss Pillsbury, my high school counselor, would be proud. My dick most definitely was not.)

"Look, Rach, I've told you a million times before, and I'll tell you again," I said slowly, like she was a three-year old trying to learn how to count to twenty. "I don't need it. I'm perfectly happy. I love my life just as it is right now, in this second. Now will you please let me enjoy it?"

"But I felt the complete same way before Finn and I got back together again, and now I'm happier than ever!" Rachel said, and I silently cursed my brother for coming back to New York to be with her. What was he even doing here?

"And I'm not you, Rach," I said, growing tired.

"Just hear me out, though, and maybe you'll consider it?" she begged. I gave her a resigned look, but shrugged, knowing that if I heard what she had to say – and if I was lucky and she was in her less-determined mood today – she would give up afterwards.

And as expected did she give an elaborated resume on the poor guy's life. Fellow dancer, tall, muscular, _handsome_ – with emphasis on handsome – and very nice smile. He was apparently the son of the owner of the theater – I internally rolled my eyes – and had an amazing voice as well. And then she started rambling about his background and hobbies and approximately there, I stopped listening.

"Okay, he sounds _lovely_ ," I interrupted her after twenty minutes straight rambling, trying not to sound too sarcastic, "but I'll have to pass."

She sent me her famous glare and I sent her one back, unaffected. "I love you, Rach, but stop trying to help me, okay? Like I said, I'm _fine_."

She looked at me critically for a minute, obviously trying to decide whether I was being truthful or not, and I kept up my neutral face to convince her. Finally she gave up, and I smiled in victory.

"Just know that if I'm not the first one to know when you find someone – which you will!" she started, "I'll be _very_ mad at you."

"Of course you will," I said, ignoring the nagging in my gut, and drank of my coffee again.

We talked for about an hour, mostly her filling me in about the theater – she was in a production of Wicked that had its opening night in about a month – and detested co-workers, while I talked about the shop and my beloved co-workers. While talking to Rachel I always got confirmed that it was the right career decision I had made. Working in such a competitive, hostile workplace? That did not do it for me. I loved my shop and my co-workers (I never called them my employees, and they never called me boss, something I had insisted on), and the fashion involved only made it so much more perfect.

After two coffees each and an hour and a half's chatting, Rachel decided she needed to get home. "Finn's probably home by now." She sounded so excited, and I tried not to feel jealous. Because just like I had reassured Rachel prior, I did not need it. I didn't.

We parted ways and I decided to walk home since the weather allowed it. I didn't have anything particularly exciting to come home to anyway (laundry and dishes that, unfortunately, wouldn't do themselves). I should have known myself better, though; as I trotted my way home, the unwelcome thoughts came instantly, and Rachel's voice rang in my ears.

 _…_ _I felt the complete same way before Finn and I got back together and now I'm happier than ever…_

I knew it was true. Rachel had spent years convincing me that she was happy with her life, and that men only were a distraction from her career and inevitable success. And suddenly she glowed in this way that I had never seen since high school, and of course my stepbrother needed to be the cause of it.

But I had meant what I said. I wasn't like her; I hadn't found my one true love in high school, I had never glowed like that and I doubted I ever would. Once it bothered me, the thought that I wouldn't find that, but after all these years and failed dates and relationships, I was content with it. And all of this, coming from a person that didn't even believe in 'one true love' anymore. At least not for myself.

Now, I know what you're thinking. Relax Kurt Hummel, you're only twenty-seven, you got all the time in the world to find your love. Believe me, the first five years here in New York I had been convinced that I would too – because contrary to what you're probably thinking right now I am not a quitter. More like a realist.

Anyway, I had indeed spent the first five or six years here trying to find someone. I had come from Lima, Ohio, practically bullied my entire way through high school (believe the non-quitter thing now?) and when I came here at eighteen, dewy-eyed and green, I had thought that I would find my perfect match within weeks in this magic city. As it turned out…

I didn't. I went on many dates (some of which turned into two, but never further than that). I tried a few relationships that went to hell within months. And the most embarrassing one: I tried walking in central park more than a few times, wearing my very best outfit, only waiting for the perfect man to stumble into me, or have his dog run into me, or maybe a niece – I wasn't particularly picky at that point (which was the problem I had found out later).

But he never came. And after those five years, I had simply stopped trying.

A few months later, I had gotten my shop because of my fairy godmother, Isabelle Wright, and it took up all my time all of sudden. And for the first time while being in New York I felt absolutely happy. I had spent those stupid five years trying desperately to find someone to confirm that I was special and wanted, but in that little shop with the clothes I myself had designed (some of it anyway) I truly believed it.

And about that time I had come to realize that I did indeed not need a man when I had my career. So maybe I did believe in one true love for me; my shop.

I smiled self-satisfied at my own conclusion. I had reached my apartment and walked the two flights of stairs to get to my door.

I really liked my apartment. It was small of course (anything in New York was) with three rooms: the kitchen/living room (rather big, which was really important to me; I cooked and baked a lot), my bedroom, and beside that, a bathroom. It wasn't much, it wasn't very glamorous, but it was all I needed.

I dropped the satchel that I brought everywhere by the door, and shrugged off my jacket and shoes, shivering slightly by the semi-cold outside. It was warm for late October, but still way too cold for me (I'm the kind of person who can't deal with too cold or too warm weather – my skin simply can't tolerate it).

As I approached my kitchen I almost decided to ditch dinner, way too exhausted, but a reasonable voice spoke in the back of my head, and reminded me of how bad that habit was – I had found out that not eating was a bad idea the hard way (not like a eating disorder or anything, but when I get passionate and busy with stuff, meaning clothes, food drops too long down on my priority list).

Anyway, I did decide to whip something up really fast (a light salad) and did the dishes before taking the bowl with me in my bedroom, too tired to actually eat in the living room like a normal person; Tuesday was my half-day off, which meant I was in the shop for about four hours (from ten to two) and then I had yoga class at three that I finished off with coffee with Rachel at our traditional Starbucks (after going home to shower, of course). Needles to say, I was exhausted – Rachel Berry tended to have a very draining effect on you, even after ten years.

I quickly changed into more comfortable wear, and read a book in the beloved sofa chair I had in my room (found at a flea market) while eating.

When I first moved here, I remembered, I loved this; alone, quiet time. I hadn't gotten much of that back in Ohio with Finn always stumbling over something or yelling at his video games, or Carole or Dad talking somewhere. Now though, this time of the day was around the time when I missed exactly what I kept convincing myself I didn't need. Because no matter how much I didn't need the complications that love brought with it, I did miss having someone to curl up to in the evening, and kiss goodnight when going to sleep. Someone to wake up in the morning, and to look at me like I didn't look like a troll (because I did before 7 am).

I shook my head, shaking off the thoughts, and inhaled shortly. Maybe I should just buy a cat?

Right, I hated cats. Crap.

I went to sleep rather quickly after that, afraid of letting my thoughts wander too far. I threw the useless book away and began my nightly skin regime – remember the sensitive skin thing? – and by 9pm I lay in my bed, hugging one of my fluffy pillows tight (most definitely _not_ pretending it was a person) and shut off my mind. Or well, tried to…

It took some time falling to sleep that night.

I woke up at eight the next morning bright and early. Some people – and by that I meant my friend Santana – found me horribly annoying in the morning, since I was kind of an early riser and a chirpy one too. I had to be at the shop at ten when we opened, and as always I had good time. I let myself shower for a few more minutes before doing my morning routine, and when I hummed myself into the kitchen, I allowed myself a little more cream cheese on my morning bagel than usual. Needless to say, I had a good feeling that day; it was going to be a good day, I was sure of it.

I still hummed when I swallowed the last bit of my coffee, and then I went into my bedroom to choose an outfit from my impeccable clothes selection, and also the last thing on my morning routine list (I always waited with dressing after eating breakfast, unwilling to risk getting breadcrumbs, or worse, coffee on my clothes).

The air was chilly when I exited my apartment, but fortunately the wind wasn't too bad – wind was my hair's mortal enemy, you see.

My shop only lay a few blocks away, so it didn't take more than a few minutes to reach it.

Now I'm sure you're all wondering what this shop I keep babbling about is all about, since I've only giving off hints, so I'll spare you the guesswork and tell you the story.

I guess you can say it all started nine years ago when I came to New York at eighteen. Rachel and I had auditioned for NYADA, New York Academy of Dramatic Arts, and only she had gotten in (seen in hindsight I should probably have taken that as some kind of sign). Stubborn as I was, though, I followed her, and was adamant on reapplying for the second semester.

And now you're probably at a loss, because _drama arts_ school?

Well, I had half a year before I could reapply at NYADA, and therefore I thought that I could dig a little into another passion and talent I had; fashion. Before I knew it, I had gotten myself an internship at , and was the assistant of one Isabelle Wright, also known as my fairy godmother. She had claimed (and did still) that she 'saw something in me', whatever that meant (that's me trying to be modest, I knew perfectly well what she meant), and I spent many years working for her, giving sage advice when she had a fash-block, as she called it, or simply giving inspiration when needed. After some time I had become her unofficial co-worker, and enjoyed it immensely, not caring about the poor salary because I felt happy there, like I belonged.

The same could not be said for NYADA. I had gotten in during that second semester, and enrolled there immediately. In some ways the school was exactly what I'd expected: competitive, ambitious, challenging.

What I hadn't expected was how wrong it felt there. People weren't motivating like I had thought; they were cruel. Even Rachel had turned her back on me to be with that guy, what was his name, Brody(?), _all_ the time.

The environment wasn't just ambitious and competitive, it was literally everyone fighting blood and tears for their own success, practically hoping you'd fail, because the chances of their fame and achievement then would increase.

But that was just what I thought was right; it needed to be challenging, right? And I needed to be pushed. So I graduated from there, ignoring the nagging feeling of unhappiness I felt in the place. I was twenty-two, and because of my pride mostly, I searched for jobs in the dramatic arts for about a year (still working for Vogue of course) and I did manage to get a job in a low-budget production of The Wiz. And I was halfway through when I found myself in a place where I was really unhappy. I was with Derek for one, a quite arrogant, but handsome (and as earlier stated annoying) guy from the play, and second off, the musical industry was awful, to me as an individual and to people in general. People genuinely did not give a shit about you.

So one day I simply quit that life. I broke it off with Derek and dropped out of the musical (Rachel still brought that up at times and used it against me as if that was the biggest mistake of my life, even though I kept trying to remind her that it was the exact opposite). I had a talk with Isabelle and she was thrilled (to say the least) about my change of plans. She welcomed me with open arms and I was slowly integrated into Vogue.

To cut a very, very long story a bit shorter, five years after graduating from NYADA, Isabelle gave me an offer that would change my life forever (dramatic I know, but you'll understand why). Vogue planned on making a line with only natural fabric, such as cotton and wool, and they wanted to open a shop to see how interested people were in the concept. And the kicker: she wanted me to be in charge of it. Second kicker: she wanted some of _my_ designs in the shop. I still get chills when I think about it now, two years later.

So there you have it. That's why I love my life so much. Because I'm _happy_. I followed my heart, which yelled that I was miserable, and I pursued my real passion. So go screw yourself, Rach (meant in the most affectionate way, of course).

The wind was getting slightly more out of control when I reached the shop. I hurried inside and started the usual routine of opening, which I would be doing alone today. I deactivated the alarm, turned on the lights, brought in the change from the locked off store, turned on the computers, and did a quick round of check up to see if the clothes hung where they should and as they should (it was important to me that it looked as presentable as possible). Finally I opened the doors and placed some of the dress rails outside in order to tempt people inside.

This was a part of the job that I secretly loved. I loved the quiet of the room when no customers had showed up yet, the clothes hanging in all their beauty, soon-to-be admired and tried on. As you probably can hear clothes is very sacred to me – especially the ones in my shop.

As usual people started to fill in pretty quickly, allured by the cozy-looking building and interior design (which I had been in charge of as well, thank you very much). It wasn't very big, my shop, but that only added up to the charm of it all. It was light and inviting inside, with bright, light green and white colors, fitting perfectly with the logo Au Naturel.

Something I had found out two year ago as well was that I was pretty damn good at servicing the customers. I suspect the fact that I loved being there to be a factor in that of course. After these past two years I had grown to love interaction with customers, and I even liked to service the ignorant assholes that sometimes crept their way into my shop – it was so fun to see their faces scrunch up in annoyance when I was being overly polite or discreetly provoking them (which I allowed myself if I knew that they wouldn't buy anything anyway).

There were too the regular customers that I had grown to adore. There was Grace, an elderly woman, and simply the sweetest creature on earth. She had been one of my very first buyers, and I remember her as the first one to express her fondness of the shop's concept. She would bring cookies now and then, and always complimented the newly arrived clothes.

Julie, a very nice young girl, also loved the shop, and always came when she needed a new killer dress or something else slightly extravagant – the other day she had come in, and announced that she needed a dress for when she was going to propose to her girlfriend. I had spent one good hour finding the most beautiful dress for her, constantly expressing how excited I was for her, and ordered her to come in and tell me how it went.

As told she came in the next day, this time accompanied by her very sweet and pretty fiancée. I may have hugged the girl a tad too tight for a stranger.

Both of them and all the other sweet customers was just another reason why I loved what I was doing.

"Hey Kurt!"

Oh, and there we have a bright and shiny second reason.

"Morning Danni," I said and winked at my favorite co-worker (yes, I know, unprofessional, but meet the girl and you'll understand). "Good night out yesterday?"

She grimaced and stuck out her tongue at me, clocking in on the computer.

Oh, and I probably need to add that, thanks to my hard efforts, she had been on the third date with my good friend Elliot the night before. That before was me hinting that something else had happened. And because of the way her eyes were glistening and her cheeks were tinted I knew the answer and smiled victoriously.

"I told you, you would love him!" I said, unpacking some new deliveries, and scanning them.

She just shrugged and smiled slightly. "No comment," she said simply.

"Fine with me, I'll get them from Elliot later then," I shrugged.

And with that she was telling me the entirety of their date, practically gushing (which was something she did NOT do normally) about how much of a gentleman he had been.

And I kept my gloating and 'I told you so's at a minimum. I had been smiling knowingly and mischievously all the way through her ranting, up until the moment she of course had to address something I did not need at the moment.

"But what about you, hon, don't you need someone to gush about as well?"

And that was the problem with Danni – she thought way too little about herself. In that way Rachel was a bit better, you just had to convince her with weak arguments, and change the subject to something including her. Danni was not like that.

"Nope, thank you, I'm fine just the way I am right now – in my shop with my fave employee," I said and smiled at her coyly, "but don't tell anyone that last part."

She rolled her eyes, and kept smiling worriedly apparently not letting my deflecting work. What was it with girls this week? I mean, even Rachel saw through it. "Kurt, I'm serious, I understood years ago because your life was such a whirlwind, but it's not anymore. The shop is a success and you're doing an amazing job with the designs. You don't have an excuse anymore."

Damn Danni and her wide, genuine eyes.

"Look Danni," I said, my voice faltering. I didn't know what to say to convince her. "To be honest, I do miss it. But just… not for the right reasons, okay? I miss cuddles, and kisses, and oh god, sex, but I don't miss the awfulness of relationships. I don't miss fighting over the dirty towels or laundry. I don't miss feeling like a caged bird."

"But you've only ever been with Derek," when I was about to protest she held up a hand, "I define a relationship as one that lasts more than a month Kurt." And to that I couldn't really argue.

"Look, Derek was just not right for you. You didn't love him, Kurt."

"Yes I did," I said, though it was a bit uncertain. "And he really loved me. And that's why it was so terrible to break it off. I can't put another one through that just because I don't know how to love someone and actually like it."

"Because it makes you feel vulnerable?" Danni asked, her x-ray eyes on (which meant that she was analyzing every word I said, so I had to be careful)

"No," I said, not really knowing what she was getting at. "I never let him so close, Danni, I never let anyone so close, you know that."

"You let me so close," she stated.

"Yeah, well you're my friend, that's different," I argued, tearing the plastic bag that the clothes were in a bit too harshly when I opened it.

She was about to answer when a customer came to the cashier and hurried to serve the woman with a kind smile. When she finished she took the scanner up and started scanning the clothes that I had put on the dress rails.

"But that's not how it works, Kurt," she said after a few moments. I looked up in confusion, and sighed when I saw her concerned eyes again. "The one you love is supposed to be your best friend, too. He's supposed to know you better than anyone, and to know all your flaws and insecurities and his job will be to love you in spite and because all of them." I focused on the clothes I was unwrapping from the plastic, not saying a word. Unable to, really.  
"And I know that you say that you don't need it or that you're incapable of it or whatever, but that's ludicrous," she pushed and I flexed my jaw. I was really not in the mood for her (so damn precise) therapy right now. I told her so, a bit harder than necessary, and finished my work quickly, leaving her to scan the deliveries alone.

Instead I went to check on the customers in the shop, smiling widely and offered my help if they needed it. Luckily there was a middle-aged man who needed help finding a dress for his girlfriend, and he put my mind off things fortunately. I had just given the light green bag to the man with a smile and laugh at his comment, when I saw them.

Because I was, well, me, the first thing I noticed about them was their clothes. They were both dressed very nicely – the shorter one slightly better than the other, I thought – and very different from each other, too.

The tall of them wore a suit, and resembled unmistakably much a businessman. He had a short-trimmed haircut, and slightly pursed lips. He was handsome, with dirty blond hair and dark eyes, but had a very harsh face – I don't know how else to describe it. His jaw was defined; sharp and set. His nose was straight and slightly pointed, somehow. His expression read schooled, but since I kind of had a gift for reading people, I could see he was definitely bored and unimpressed.

He stood in deep contrast to the man on his arm – actually when I looked at them, the only resemblance I could see was their age, which I guessed was around my own.

He was shorter, and had curly, unruly – quite adorable – dark hair, with a soft face, and while his partner wore a suit, he was much more casually fashionable, in lighter colors, though not something striking or attention seeking. He was even more handsome than the man beside him, but what caught my attention wasn't his stunning, golden eyes or his delicious plump, red lips. What drew my attention was how his eyes were downcast and distant, and how his lips turned slightly downwards.

Mostly the eyes captivated me, though. They had such a kindness in them, and a soft curiosity, if I wasn't mistaken, but I saw something behind it, too, like he held up a façade. Both made it look like he was trying to hide his real emotions, which I couldn't decipher completely.

Now, there's something you probably ought to know about me. After working here I had slowly discovered that I had quite a talent for reading people, making me excellent at customer service. So, you can see how I both got extremely intrigued and plain out curious by him, when I wasn't able to read his – admittedly beautiful – eyes.

I guess I stared for longer than normal, and when they seemed to notice I had no choice but to approach them and ask politely if they needed help.

"No," the taller man instantly said, his tone rather impolite, but not really rude either.

I smiled and nodded in understanding and went to fix some clothes that had fallen on the floor nearby. When I – inevitably – looked up at the curly-haired man, I found the golden eyes already resting on me, and I almost blushed a deep red. When I caught his eyes though, he just hurried to send me a smile somewhere between apologetic and polite.

Just when he had looked away, I heard the taller partner huff not-so-quietly. "They call this men's wear? I could wear a dress and I would look more masculine in that than in this," he said to his curly-haired partner, who currently had his back to me so I couldn't see his reaction. From the way his posture stiffened and screamed uncomfortable, though, I thought I had the idea of it.

The comment wasn't anything I wasn't used to – our menswear selection was limited and some of it were rather feminine, but believe it or not, I did sell a lot of it, and not only to gay men. But the very dress shirt he was criticizing was my design, and one I had worked hard on, too – and yes, it was rather unisex, but I had been very careful to make it the perfect blend between feminine and masculine. It hurt, but then again, I had had it worse. The thing that pissed me off, though, was that he knew perfectly well that I was standing not more than five feet away, and he didn't even bother to lower his voice. Criticizing my work to me directly was a lot different than criticizing my work _in front of me_ and directed at another human being, effectively ignoring me in the act.

I probably should have walked away, or strike that, I _should_ have walked away, but something about the dark-haired stranger made me stay; because he knew I was there, too, and for some reason I wanted to see his reaction.

His back was still stiff and uncomfortable, and I could see his gaze flicker to me – while I pretended to be very absorbed in the sweater I was folding. I didn't dare to look up, but I heard a soft – mortified – voice speak quietly (again so contrary to his loud, rude partner).

"Come on, Paul, don't be so rude."

 _Paul?_ Hm.

"Don't talk to me like that, Blaine, I can voice my opinion if I want to," the man, _Paul_ , said in a harsh voice, and my dislike to the man grew violently when I heard the voice he was speaking to his partner in – like he, _Blaine? Hmm,_ was beneath him or a child. "And you can't tell me that this isn't completely gay."

And okay, that was it. I had just folded the last sweater and was about to walk over there and lead him out of the shop, but the man – Blaine – stopped me. Not by words or anything, but by the way his jaw clenched in obvious embarrassment and annoyance.

"You are gay, Paul, so stop using that word as if it's wrong," he replied, and his tone had gone harsher, but not nearly enough. He sounded off too, like he was… afraid?

"I know, _sweetheart_ , but I don't go and flaunt it in other people's faces like others," the man responded, and I was about 99% sure he shifted his gaze to me as he said it. I felt my own jaw clench this time. _Sweetheart?_ So they _were_ together. Somehow that thought seemed odd to me, and it… well, it bothered me for some reason. "In business you can't do that, or you might as well, what do I know, start up a lousy, faggy shop or something."

And I snapped. The exact moment that his … boyfriend hissed his name in anger – and hurt? – I had taken two strides, facing the man with a tight, furious smile. "Are you _sure_ there's nothing I can help you with, gentlemen? Something tells me you're a bit lost here?"

"Lost?" the man asked, not faced at all that I was obviously confronting him about his comment. One glance at the man beside him, and I knew _he_ most definitely was. I almost felt bad, but then I directed my gaze at the sandy-haired man again, and I felt the anger ignite all over.

"Yes well, by your implying comments, I'm guessing you're at least two centuries behind and very lost concerning time and, you know, ordinary decency," I replied sharply, and watched his face scrunch up in anger. Ah, satisfaction. Before he got to reply and we made a scene here, though, I hurried to keep talking. "Now, since you've made it clear that you won't be buying my 'faggy' clothes, I politely ask for you to leave my shop. Please." I added the last in a painfully sweet voice.

And I almost smiled to myself, feeling very self-satisfied indeed, until I spared a glance at his shorter partner, and I felt it deflate immediately. His jaw was so tight it must have hurt, and I didn't know whether the anger was directed at his partner or me.

As I looked at him, though, it became clear that he was terribly embarrassed, and I actually did feel bad then. Horribly so.

His distant eyes were again down cast, not meeting my gaze, and the sadness in them that I had seen earlier suddenly became much more evident – even people without my sixth sense could have spotted it now. I wondered once again how the hell that soft-spoken, kind-looking man could be with such an asshole. Actually it bugged me more than it probably should. I was about to apologize quietly to the curly-haired in question, but before I knew it, he had gripped his partner's nicely clothed arm and dragged him out of the shop. I didn't really perceive the hateful look the earlier stated 'asshole' sent me before exiting my shop, my attention somewhere else completely.

"Who were Mr. Hot Stuff and Mr. Sour Face?" Danni asked as I made my way back to the desk.

I shrugged, playing cool. "Guess they came in to criticize my clothes," I said. "Or well, Sour Face did, the curly-haired was humble enough to at least look apologetic." I added the last, feeling slightly bitter. He hadn't just looked apologetic; he had looked absolutely mortified and as if he really wanted to defend me. But what stopped him? Wait, was I reading too much into this? Maybe the man, Blaine, didn't want to defend me; maybe he didn't like my clothes either and just let his boyfriend be the speaker of the two.

But those eyes… those damn, breathtaking eyes frustrated me, because they _shouldn't_ frustrate me so much.

"Ehm, Kurt?" Danni's voice sounded, pulling me out of my thoughts. Gosh, what had become of me? Losing myself in thoughts over something ridiculous and probably non-existent during work? "Something wrong? I mean criticism usually doesn't get to you?"

I shook my head. "No, it's not that, I guess I'm just tired today," I hurried to lie. "Sorry Danni."

She just smiled softly, and I hated that look in her eye, something that told me she knew more than she should. "It's okay hon. You can go back and take care of the rest of the deliveries if you'd like, I got it here."

I shook my head, though, not daring to be left alone with my thoughts. "No, it's okay, you go, I can take care of it out here."

She eyed me warily before obliging, but did nonetheless without any comments. This was what I liked about Danni. If she really felt I didn't want to talk about something, she didn't pry or hover.

The rest of the day went by pretty quickly. I distracted myself by helping the customers, being even more service-minded than I usually was. At the end of the day my jaw hurt quite badly from all the smiling and laughing. Luckily – or not so luckily considering how you look at it – the people thinned out by closing time, and Danni was off an hour before me, which meant I had the last hour all to myself. The second she exited the shop, my thoughts of course came sneaking back. I seriously needed to learn how to shut them up.

It was no use though. No matter how much I tried I still couldn't get those golden eyes out of my head. Was it because they were so beautiful? I mean, they were by far the most stunning eyes I had ever seen, but other handsome – okay gorgeous – men crossed my path all the time and that had never affected me before.

Was I getting desperate? The first pair of pretty eyes, and I'm unable to think of anything else? Maybe I just needed to get laid. I scrunched up my face at the thought, my father's words replaying in my head as they always did when I was considering one-night stands (without alcohol in my system, that is).

 _Don't throw yourself around like you don't matter. 'Cause you matter, Kurt._

So yeah, not an option.

It wasn't like I was _attracted_ to the man, though. No matter how handsome and attractive men are, if they are in a relationship it's no go. That was a rule, and it went for me as well – always had. I respected that.

But why did he seem so unhappy? There was just something in those golden orbs. It looked so tragic; such shining eyes should never be filled with unhappiness – hidden or not hidden – it simply looked unnatural. Like those eyes had been born to be bright and happy, and to see them otherwise was just… sad.

But why? Why did his eyes look secretly sad? I had noticed the way he looked away when the man he was with talked, like he was embarrassed, but he didn't try to stop him – not really, anyway. It looked like he had been afraid of defying him. Was that it? Did he feel like his boyfriend was in some kind of position of power over him? He had mentioned business; maybe it was something with their jobs? But why live under that? The man had not seemed particularly nice, and he hadn't been _that_ handsome. There was another possibility of course, but I refused to see it as one. I almost shook with dread at the thought of domestic violence – because of Coach Beiste I knew how horrible that was. No. That was simply not a possibility.

I sighed to myself, and realized I had been staring into the air for the past twenty minutes. Gosh, I needed to get a grip on myself. I shouldn't be thinking about this. I had never met him before, not even seen him – I knew that because that face was not one you forgot just like that. He was a stranger. You didn't think about stranger's eyes or the cause of the sadness in them. It was weird.

And so I shook my head free of weird thoughts and I closed the shop, focusing completely on the work – honestly it was routine, but I refused to let my thoughts wander again.

I decided to take the subway home that night instead of walking. The little train was crowded as always, and as usual I felt slightly claustrophobic. The first few years here, I had absolutely loved the underground trains. Now I don't remember why – the thick, warm air, the many smelly people, who sometimes would ogle you shamelessly, while you had no way of getting out of it since you were stuck in a small wagon? Yeah, no thanks.

But still I refused to get snobbish like Rachel and get a town car – actually happened, I'm not even kidding – so I still rode them now and then, in silent protest mostly. Otherwise I would walk, which actually was my preferred way of transportation, too. Because that was something New York never failed to make me love: the streets with the many different people and tall building surrounding you, securing you. Some people found _that_ claustrophobic and some people thought that the air was disgusting up there as well, but I loved my city nonetheless.

I was out of the subway quickly and hurried home, feeling victorious that my plan on distracting myself was working for now. I let myself in, and immediately starting dinner – I sometimes used cooking as a stress relief, yes I'm weird, I know.

Then I found my phone and ear buds from my satchel and played the music loud until I was completely unable to hear my own thoughts. I worked perfectly.

One hour, an amazing dish (with leftovers for lunch tomorrow) and about twenty songs later I sat in my bed, my head pounding with a slight ache. I ignored it though, and was adamant to read my best distraction – The Little House on the Prairie (it always reminded me of childhood and comfort, and the nostalgic, content feeling it brought never failed).

Frankly I didn't know why I was trying to hard. Because I was feeling like a creep? Or simply because I didn't want to think about what Danni had said today? Whatever it was I was trying so hard to suppress, I succeeded. After so many years I had become quite good at it after all.

That night I dreamt of swirling gold, and dark walls that, when I touched them, would fall, before building themselves right up again.

* * *

 **So, first chapter? Let me know what you think, please, I would really like to know if any of you may be interested? You are always welcome to come with any form of feedback or advice, I'm typically very open-minded ;)**

 **Love,**

 **A**


	2. Chapter 2

**N &T**

 **A/N**

 **Hello again! So, when I said 'patient' I MEANT patient! First off, so sorry for the wait, but that's just starting a new school for ya, I guess - it is rather overwhelming and people are everywhere. I have basically no time to write :( But here you have chapter 2 anyway. I really hope you'll enjoy it!**

 **Sorry for typos or grammar mistakes, I didn't have all the time in the world for double checking anything.**

 **Disclaimer: not. mine.**

* * *

 **Chapter 2**

"Hey Mr. Boss," Santana greeted me when she entered the shop, and I looked up from the cashier, smiling at her – quite thankfully actually. This morning had been hell; my mind would simply not stop humming. The strange colors and pictures from my dreams had replayed over and over again, and it was driving me mad. Why couldn't I just act like a normal person, just for once? I was almost worried I was turning ill.

"Is this what I'm hoping for and the reason you're blanking is 'cause you haven't slept much this night, busy getting ass?" Santana broke me off from my invasive mind.

"Satan…" I said, eyeing my friend. Santana was… one of the funnier acquaintances I had made in this town; sassy and arrogant, but at the same time the most loyal and secretly loving friend you could ever find. I happened to appreciate her immensely. But right now I was not in the mood for her usual inappropriate, vulgar comments.

"Sorry," she said, not the slightest bit apologetically, "you prefer _giving_ ass?"

"I'm serious, Santana," I warned and she eyed me with a raised brow.

"Uh, who rained on your rainbow, darlin'?" she asked, as she put her long, black hair up in a ponytail.

"Just… didn't sleep too well, now please, the men's section is a mess," I said gesturing for the area. "I'll take the cashier."

She rolled her eyes dramatically, but obliged. One thing I appreciated as well; even with her bitchy, cheeky attitude, she had never disregarded me – as her boss anyway.

The first hour was rather quiet, very unfortunate for me; my dear thoughts came rushing back. It kept speculating, and for once I didn't have anything to distract it with. Golden orbs replayed in my head, and I kept wondering – what _was_ it? I had never considered myself obnoxiously curious, but for some reason this would simply not slip my mind. Maybe if I just figured it out somehow I could forget it? But I would not sink so low and become a stalker or something, so that was out of the question.

I stood, staring out in the air, when I seriously got worried about myself. At first I thought I had become a lunatic; right in front of me, I saw a pair of unmistakably golden eyes.

Until, of course, I realized that they weren't a hallucination.

"H-hi," I said shaking my head slightly, praying to the universe that he wouldn't notice the hesitation and, oh yeah, my probably shocked-to-no-end eyes. "Uh, can I help you?"

"Hi," he said in a quiet voice – deep I noticed, but velvety soft. It had such an ardency that fascinated me. "Ehm, well, you probably don't remember me, but…"

"Blaine was it?" I asked, and decided (forced myself) to play it cool and friendly. _Just like any other customer_ , Hummel. Because that's what he was.

"Y-yeah," he said, looking startled – like it was simply unimaginable that someone would remember him.

"I remember most of my customers, Blaine," I said, trying to keep up my most charming, unfaltering smile. "Especially since it was only yesterday we met."

"Right, yeah, I imagine you would," he said, his voice still quiet.

"Well, now that I know your name, it's only fair for you to know mine – I'm-"

"Kurt Hummel, I know," he said bashfully, and a small smile graced his lips shortly – it suited him so well, and I was almost sad to see it go. He eyed my nametag.

"Oh right," I said with a light laugh. I really was a good actor, you would have to give me that.

I narrowed my eyes slightly in interest, and asked knowingly. "You haven't gotten your… partner with you this time around, though." I hoped he wouldn't notice the hesitation there.

He seemed to flinch slightly at those words, and I saw guilt form on his face, despite my soft, non-blaming voice. "Yeah, eh, that's actually-" he stopped mid-sentence, and he looked to the ground as he spoke. For some reason I really wanted him to look up. "That's actually why I came," he then said and lifted his gaze, supposedly gaining some courage there.

"Oh?" I inquired, my voice still controlled and soft, friendly.

"I wanted to eh, apologize," he said and I inhaled, startled. "What Paul said yesterday, that was not okay and I'm just… I'm really sorry."

"Blaine, you don't have to apologize for what your boyfriend-"

"I do," he said, his tone slightly harsher, but still soft as summer rain – his voice really was quite intoxicating. "I didn't defend you like I should have and I'm sorry. He just… he had a bad day and he gets… I don't even know what the hell I'm doing, I'm sorry…" his face looked mortified as he made a move to turn around, but my arm across the desk stopped him, grabbing his shoulder – I had no idea what I was doing either, it seemed.

"No, it's-" I started and wanted to facepalm as I retreated my arm. "It's okay, really. Thank you. It's not your duty, though, that was merely what I meant. And believe me, I've had it much worse."

At that comment Blaine's eyes seemed to sadden, and he looked slightly disbelieving as well. It was quite flattering. "I can't imagine why," he said, and for some reason I felt warm – I had never been good with compliments, believe it or not. "I mean you've designed some of these clothes yourself, right?"

"Yeah," I said, thinking back to the shirt yesterday, and almost flinched. "Yeah, I have."

Apparently Blaine seemed to be a particularly perceptive person, and he instantly caught my tone. "Oh, God, the shirt yesterday, it wasn't…"

"Blaine, it really doesn't matter," I said.

He seemed to think so, though, as he rubbed his temple, suddenly looking a bit angry – it was strangely odd to see on his so soft, kind face. "Gosh, I can't believe this. Mr. Hummel, I'm _so_ sorry, I really am. Your designing is beyond admirable, so just… I'm sorry."

Once again I felt a bit warmer than I should, and I couldn't stop the smile that spread on my face if I tried – for some reason I found his polite rambling adorable. "Hey now," I said in my best soothing voice. "First off, please don't call me Mr. Hummel, it makes me sound like my dad, _and_ it makes me look quite rude since I've been calling you by first name this whole time," I said, my customer voice on again – I could be charming as fuck (excuse my French) if I wanted to. It turned slightly more personal when I continued, though, and I didn't feel like I could do anything about it. "And, Blaine, I'm serious, it's okay. And thank you again. I really appreciate you coming in here and everything, but I assure you, it's okay."

He seemed to believe that, and he looked down again, nodding. "Thank you, Kurt," he then said, his voice a bit lighter, thank God (whom I don't believe in, but that's beside the point).

"No problem," I said, making sure to smile warmly. "Now, is there anything I can actually help you with?"

"Well," he said, and his face warmed up, making it even more handsome. "I was actually thinking I could find a new shirt for my friend Wes – he's studying law, and almost only wears suits, so I wanted to try to offer him something just a little fashionable for once."

At first I was startled that so many words had come out of the quiet man, but the trying smile on his face soon made me actually perceive his words. Maybe this Wes was a colleague of his partner's, with the whole suit thing, I mean.

"Well that sounds like a brilliant idea," I said before my reaction got too late. "I think I can help you out there."

And that was how we ended up walking through the collection of men's wear – Santana had taken over the cashier – finding the perfect shirt for his law friend. Blaine was still rather hesitant and quiet, but his eyes seemed less secretive now, less like they were hiding something – he seemed more relaxed.

And while his mouth didn't speak too much, his eyes kept stunning me with their language – because that's what it was. They spoke with their noticeable intensity, kind and curious. The only problem was I didn't understand it fully, the language. They were still clouded with something, and the whole time I was trying to focus on finding the damn shirt, all I wanted to do was ask him what it was. Did he even notice? Was his eyes simply made like that?

At last we found the shirt – one of my designs as well – and I serviced him with a smile that he returned almost shyly. For some bizarre reason I didn't want him to go as he turned around. I felt a crazy urge to ask him to stay a little longer or maybe give me his number or E-mail or something so I could contact him again.

That was until I realized that thought was lunatic, and that _I was being a creeper._

"Eh, earth to Kurt Hummel?" I heard a voice say, and I sighed inwardly. "So you _did_ spend the entire night getting laid. You know you could just have said yes, right?"

"What the hell are you even talking about?" I asked, because I genuinely had no clue anymore.

"Seems to me like it's a bit more than sex, though," she said thoughtfully, and she had lost me completely.

"No seriously, Satan, I have no clue here."

She rolled her eyes exaggeratedly. "Really? Right then let me break it down; Short, curly-haired, sexy as hell, was here about… fifteen seconds ago? Ring a bell?"

"What about my latest customer, Satan?" I asked, refusing to let the panic show in my eyes.

"Customer? Is that what we call it now?"

"Look, Satan," I said and turned to face her. She was leaned against the desk, not even pretending to be working. "That before was a man called Blaine, whose _boyfriend_ was an ass to me yesterday. The guy came in and apologized and we found a shirt for his friend in law school. I don't get why you should be insinuating anything because of that."

"So, wait, you two don't know one another?" Santana asked, for once actually shocked.

"Well, no," I said, and I was _not_ going to let my expression reveal that those damn eyes had been haunting me for twenty-four hours.

"Well, I mean, it _does_ make sense that you're crushing on a guy you've only met considering how deprived you must be."

"Excuse me?" I asked with a raised brow. I was really not in the mood for Santana right now.

"Sorry, boss, but you're quite obvious."

"You're ludicrous and completely inappropriate," I spluttered.

"Well-"

"Santana," I said, closing my eyes in frustration, not capable of listening to her right now. "Stop talking. Please. Just. Go be somewhere else, try to actually work, maybe."

When I reopened my eyes, her expression had softened and she walked away without another word. I silently shook my head and continued my work, trying my hardest to forget what she had just said.

Just for the record, you are allowed to call me the dumbest person on this planet. Actually I encourage you to. But what was I supposed to do? Forget about Kurt Hummel and the incident at his exceptional shop?

Truthfully I had seen it coming. When I had dragged Paul in, finally convincing him to visit the shop I had had my eye on for centuries now, I knew how he'd be. I knew that whenever I wore anything too flamboyant or striking, he would comment on it, sometimes even ask me to change if he had a bad day, and if not, he would just send me a stern look. What I hadn't expected was for the manager to be right beside us when he started criticizing. And what I really hadn't expected was for the manager to be so…

I shook my thoughts away, and kept walking away from the shop, despite a freaky part of me that pulled me towards the shop. Getting into _that_ part of it was not a good idea. So what if Kurt Hummel was attractive – which was kind of a huge understatement, but still? So what if he was polite and genuine, but sassy when the moment called for it? I didn't know him. He could be the biggest ass for all I knew. I got pulled out of my thoughts when I nearly bumped into a man in front of me on the sidewalk, and I sighed inwardly.

 _Sidetracked much, Anderson? That has only happened, what, all the 87 times you have thought about Kurt Hummel since yesterday._

It wasn't my fault though. Of course I hadn't been able to stop thinking about it. That day had been the most mortifying day of my existence. Not only because Kurt had been right and Paul had opened his big mouth without a care, but too because the shirt had been remarkable, the design meticulous.

I didn't even think Paul actually thought the shirt was ugly; maybe he just criticized it because he knew how infatuated I was with the shop and its concept – something Paul was completely indifferent about.

Not for the first time over many, many years I felt such an embarrassment over of him. Sometimes I asked myself why I put up with it, but… Well, let's just say that it's complicated. Very complicated in fact. And Paul… well, I loved him, right? He was my first boyfriend, and he could be quite wonderful at times. It was still easier when he was out traveling – which he was pretty often since he was an engineer and apparently they travel a lot. Then I could spend weeks – sometimes months – convincing myself that he was the one for me. Only problem was I knew it wasn't true. But there was no other option. Simple as that. As the time had passed, I had learned to make the best of it.

I suppressed a sigh as I took the grand elevator to our penthouse condo. I always told Paul that it was unnecessary – the extraordinary place, the very best of the Upper East Side, and the breathtaking view. Frankly I felt the condo was a waste of space – we were only two people living there after all. But Paul had insisted, and since he was the one making all the money, he was the one to decide. That's what he had said, anyway, and he was right, I assumed.

He was a pretty big deal in the engineer business, Paul. Hence why he traveled a lot and earned that much money. And if I found it unnecessary, well, did it matter? It's not like I'd start complaining that our place was 'too big', so I had learned to value it instead of constantly thinking how shallow and impersonal it looked – even after my many failed attempts to 'home it up' (Paul had complained when he had gotten back, you see, and so I had to stop)

I yelled out that I was back, and the usual lack of answer hit me – when Paul was busy, he seemed to lose sense of his surroundings and well, me. He was passionate like that, and I admired it.

I found him in our bedroom with his back turned my way, apparently packing. Today was the last day home, and he would be traveling to Boston the next morning. I still wasn't quite sure for how long – he was never really clear about that.

"Hi," I said slowly, watching his back. Even at home he wore his suit, and I had stopped commenting on it after I could see he got annoyed every time I mentioned it. He just like to look pulled together at all times, he said. He was really quite tall, with his clean, sharp haircut and defined jaw. He was handsome. People always told me how lucky I was.

He looked at me briefly and turned around again. "Where have you been?" he asked, and I could hear that he wasn't in a particularly good mood. Crap.

"Just out," I said as nonchalantly as I could, and thankfully he didn't seem to notice the way I hesitated. He just hummed indifferently and kept packing his expensive suits into his abnormally big suitcase.

I hurried out again and made sure he didn't see the 'Au Naturel' bag – that would probably piss him off right now, and I really didn't have the energy for that right now.

Since it was only just past noon and I had time, I took my satchel and retreated the essays I needed to grade over the weekend. I taught six and seven year old kids in kindergarten class, and had made them write about their traditional thanksgiving, which was coming up. Many people had asked my why I chose kids to educate when I graduated at the top of my class, but honestly? I loved kids, I had always wanted to work with kids, and I didn't care what Paul said for once.

Children were magical to me, the world so innocent and new to them. I loved to experience the world through their eyes, if only for a little while, and that was what my job provided me; it reminded me of a dewy-eyed, naïve, but _happy_ , little Blaine. Before… well, before everything.

As always, I shook the thoughts off me and started working, focusing only on the big, misshapen letters – some very hard to read. I really did love my job. Not many people could say that, and I was immensely grateful I could. So, maybe people were right. Maybe I _was_ lucky.

I sat there for a long time. Paul never interrupted me, frankly he was nearly always too busy to, and so I was rather shocked to see that it was almost half past five when I glanced at the clock again.

I started dinner immediately, knowing that Paul didn't like to be kept waiting when it came to supper (in fact, he just didn't like to wait in general). I sort of liked that I always was the one to cook – Paul never bothered, and said that since he paid it, I made it (that was kinda his motto, actually). I just went with it – partly because it actually made sense, but mainly because I enjoyed cooking. It reminded me of childhood, before everything went to hell, and my parents were real parents, who baked muffins and cookies with their only child (me, in this case).

I searched through my kitchen – I called it 'my' since Paul basically never went further than the island – and found something usable; chicken, spaghetti, parmesan and some lettuce and vegetables that could turn into a good salad. That would do for today.

I heard footsteps approach about half an hour later, when the spaghetti had just finished boiling. I turned around with a small smile. He looked tired, but of course it couldn't be seen on anything other than his eyes and the circles under them – not one hair was ever out of place with Paul.

"I made Chicken Parmesan, I hope it's okay," I said softly, and he hummed and sat down at the island. I found plates and cutlery, and served the food with a satisfied smile. It looked quite appetizing if I said so myself.

We ate in silence, Paul tiredness catching slightly up on me. When he finished before me – I was a rather slow eater – he stood up and kissed my curly hair.

"Thanks for the food," he mumbled, and I smiled widely back. I loved it when he would appreciate my food now and then. "I'll take a shower, and freshen up a bit, then you can join me, 'kay?"

I nodded and accepted the wet kiss he gave me before going off to the bathroom. I quickly decided that I was full and started cleaning up the mess I had made in a hurry – remember the 'not liked to be kept waiting' thing?

I quickly went into our bedroom, and when I still heard the shower run, I sat down on the bed, with folded legs. I tilted my head bag and gazed at the big painting we had. It showed a grand flower, in the most beautiful of colors, just on the verge to blooming. Really, I didn't find it that pretty. But Paul considered it art, and the price had probably helped the idea along.

"Not undressed yet?" A smooth voice said from the door opening, and I snapped my face in his direction, startled. He wore only a towel, hair damp, but not disheveled, and droplets of water running down his exposed torso. He had quite an impressive body, toned and tanned (not entirely natural, that is).

The darkness of his eyes told me what he wanted – as if his comment didn't give it away. I just smiled and let him kiss me and remove my clothes before taking off the towel himself.

I had learned from a quite young age that sex wasn't my thing. Maybe it was because I had only tried to receive in my life – Paul told me it was normal for gay couples to have a preference. But maybe I was just one of those people who didn't get the hype. Don't get me wrong, I did find it pleasing at times, and I most definitely wasn't asexual, but the hurting part of it never made it worth it for me.

I let him take control, and bit back the pain. Sometimes he would hit _that_ spot, and the pain would subdue for a while, eliciting momentary pleasure. He made sure I came when he was done, for which I was grateful (sometimes he was too tired to notice that I hadn't), and kissed me sloppily before going to sleep.

I walked my way into the shower, wincing slightly at the pain, but forcing myself to walk normally. I turned on the shower and let the warm water soothe my semi-tense muscles.

I remember the first time I had sex, and the naïve expectations I had back then. I remember it being quite the disappointment when it was no way near what people had made it out to be. I figured back then that it was because it was with a boy – all the people I had talked to back then were straight. And here I never had the guts to ask anybody (not that I had any gay friends I could ask).

I had talked to Paul about it once, back when he was my only confidante, before New York, after hell broke loose. He had held me tight and told me that that was just the way for gay men. There was nothing we could do apparently. And as so many other things, I had accepted it and lived on. After all, like all the other things as well, it wasn't like I had a choice.

The following days did nothing to soothe my sneaking suspicion that I had gone mentally ill. Every time the door would open in my shop, my head would snap up, and before I even realized what I was hoping for, I would feel the light wave of disappointment. No golden eyes. No kind and curious look, glazed by a wall of emotionless, hidden sadness. I would shake it off every time of course, and assure myself that it wasn't because I was hoping for _him_ to enter my shop again. Because that would be insane. And creepy. And obsessive. And I was _not_ the obsessive type. Actually I was quite the opposite.

Unfortunately for me, I wasn't the only one who had noticed my behavior.

"So, I've decided that I'm gonna take you out tonight," Santana said the moment after the doors to the shop had closed, and I had started to count the cash in the cashier. It was Saturday evening and three days since my very first encounter with Blaine and Mr. Rude Suit. I didn't look up and she naturally continued. "Get tipsy, have fun and then, possibly, not saying you have to, get your mack on. And by mack, I mean sex."

 _Twenty-six, twenty-seven, twenty-eight._

"And why would I do that?" I said absentmindedly, still not looking up.

"Because you need it, Hummel," she just said. "You're all uptight and, well, frankly you've been acting freaky lately. And I think it has something to do with your lack of sexy times."

"You think everything has something to do with lack of 'sexy times', Satan," I retorted, but she had finally caught my attention (right around 'you've been acting freaky lately' to be more precise). _Why_ did I put her on watch with me this weekend, again?

"Just go with me," she said, and something in her face changed slightly. Slightly enough that others without my gift for reading people's faces wouldn't have caught it. It was concern. "I will call The Dwarf," (meaning Rachel Berry if anyone was in doubt) "and Mr. and Mrs. Starchild" (meaning Elliot and Danni).

"Satan I'm serious, you need to stop. I'm _fine_."

She sighed and the concern in her face became evident enough that some perceptive people would notice. "Then just come out to have fun. Sunday is your only day off. Take advantage of that for once."

"Sunday is my cleaning day, Satan," I sighed.

"Please Kurt?" she said, actually using my first name. Gosh, was it this serious?

"Fine, fine!" I said, slightly worried now. Santana never begged. Never.

"Niceness," she said suddenly not sounding concerned or pleading at all. Freaking imp. "I'll call them now."

"No, you will not, Santana, we're still at work, remember?" I scolded and she rolled her eyes and helped me count the cashier.

Surprisingly enough Rachel came (making me suspicious that Santana had planned this on beforehand – maybe that was why she had been so desperate for me to come?) Danni and Elliot made it too, both obviously smitten. And right, now I remembered why I put Santana on watch with me this weekend – so Danni could get some quality time with Elliot. Damn me and my perfect matchmaker skills!

We met at Satan's small apartment, and she dragged us to her favorite bar nearby. I wasn't surprised that this what was Santana's favorite bar looked like. The sign above the door was grand, reading 'The Lonely Bird', a name I found odd at first, but somehow it suited the place. Inside the light was dimmed and tinted red. The music was loud, of course, but there were tables away from the speakers where it looked like it was possible to have an actual conversation. I decided pretty quickly that I liked the place. For a bar, anyway.

We settled down at a table near the bar, while Satan got us drinks – meaning she demanded our money and went to the bar to blow them on alcohol. I don't know why I obliged really, since I disliked alcohol to a strong degree. Not only did I hate the taste, but I hated not being able to be in control of what I was saying and doing – as everything I'm saying probably states, alcohol has a rather extreme effect on me. To a degree where it's not even funny. I don't know what went wrong with me on that point actually, but some says it's because I drink so rarely.

She came back with her hands full of alcohol though, and I sighed, remembering why I had let her buy them for me. A distraction. I needed to feel like I wasn't some weird, desperate creep. I took the shot of … something she was offering me, and drowned it, grimacing at the disgusting taste of sprit.

When I reopened my eyes, I saw three other pairs look at me in respectively confusion, suspicion, and wariness. Santana just smirked knowingly.

"Ehm, Kurt? You okay?" Danni asked, being the wary one. Of course.

I decided to go with the innocent strategy. "'F course why not?" I asked and shrugged.

"Kurt, you never drink, remember?" Rachel cut in, still suspicious. "What's going on?"

I let out an exasperated noise. "Guys c'mon, really? I can't just have fun for one night?"

"Let the man be," Santana came to my defense, and the others seem to go with it. Not that I noticed since I was busy downing the next shot Santana was handing me.

"Thanks Satan," I said, and I finally began to feel dizzy.

Around me, Rachel had already started her daily monologue about herself, and I discreetly took what looked like a mojito and started sipping of it casually. Luckily no one seemed to notice.

We had been there for about an hour when I noticed the man at the bar obviously looking at me. I was buzzed, not enough to be called drunk, but my mind had seemed to shut up more, which I called a success. This made me capable of telling that the man was handsome, dark hair and light blue eyes that stood out even from here. His jaw was rather defined, and oh, he looked flirtatious. _Very_ much so, actually.

Without tooting my own horn too much, I did pass as attractive, I would say. My body was lean and partially muscular from the lifestyle I had chosen (that it had nothing to do with vanity was another story). I made sure that my hair was always impeccable, and my outfits were always chosen carefully. That and puberty had in general done a lot good for me.

So, yeah, as I looked back at the blue, suddenly darker, eyes, I figured it made sense that it was me he was looking at. It did happen quite frequently actually, but I usually ignored it – especially in bars, since they weren't really my thing, as you've probably picked up by now.

This time though, something made me consider taking advantage of the opportunity. _A distraction, Hummel._ And a damn good one, too. But before I got to choose myself, Santana had taken my arm forcefully and practically dragged me to the bar, right next to the man in question.

"He's interested," Santana simply said pointing my way, before ordering a drink and walking away. I scowled her way, but apparently people had no intention of letting me do anything on my own, because before I got to say anything, the man was talking.

"Hello gorgeous," his voice was deep, certainly on purpose I assumed. "Can I buy you a drink?"

And since it was free booze and hot male attention, I thought, _why not_? (For future reference, please remember that I was still buzzed at this point, and I was not kidding about the alcohol-thing).

So, I nodded with a half smile, sitting down beside him.

"So, what's your name, stranger?" he asked, voice still deep, but more polite this time.

I narrowed my eyes, briefly considering faking a name, but decided that I wouldn't be that kind of guy. "Kurt Hummel," I answered him and shook his hand. "Pleasure to meet you. And thanks for the drink."

"Of course," he said, and he actually had a nice smile.

"Can I get your name?" I asked, sipping of the drink he had bought me – I wasn't quite sure what it was to be frank.

"Alec," was his answer, and it suited him surprisingly well.

Alec turned out to be rather good at small talking, and combined with the practice I had had in the shop, it wasn't that awkward. I couldn't trust myself completely because of the alcohol on my system – which now had increased, and it would be fair to call me drunk by now – but he seemed to be nice. He was surprisingly polite and actually quite interested, as if he wasn't actually just looking for a hook-up. His smile was getting prettier and prettier as I got drunker, and he made sure to compliment something about me at least every four sentences.

But most importantly, when we talked I completely forgot about intriguing strangers, and feeling like a complete creep. So, I kept talking to him, and finding that I enjoyed it quite a bit, too.

After the third drink he had bought me, our conversation seemed to become louder and sillier.

He asked me to dance, which I agreed to. I instantly felt myself stagger when I stood up, and strong hands grabbed my waist for balance. I sent him a grateful smile. My mind was fuzzy and slow, and my body felt light like air. I was definitely drunk.

We started dancing slowly and rather innocently. He kept his hands to himself, but kept close, close enough for people to see we were dancing together. I wasn't really aware of my body movements, but I was pretty sure my hips were swaying to the beat of the loud music, eyes closed and arms somewhere in the air around me.

I don't know when he started grabbing my hips, or when exactly our bodies started aligning, but somewhere in my mind, I detected it. And while sober me would most definitely pay more attention and probably stop it, drunk me pulled closer.

He smelled nice, I detected, when he leaned in closer and pressed his lips to my neck, tongue tracing my damp skin. My arms were clutching his waist, and I could feel a defined torso underneath his thin T-shirt. That and the warm mouth sucking my neck instantly pulled a switch in my body, heating it up in areas I had neglected for so long. Hungrily I pulled him closer, so we were flush against each other. Not having any of his 'working his way up to my lips', I took charge, and pressed his lips against mine, or actually to be more exact, pushed my tongue into his mouth. He reciprocated instantly, and my inebriated mind saw it as a green light to let my hands slip under his shirt and roam his muscled chest. The firm flesh and, gosh, those abs, did absolutely nothing for my situation. My pants were suddenly _very_ tight.

Before I could get any longer, though, strong hands stopped me and the lips left mine. When I opened them, my blurry vision presented me with a pair of suddenly very dark blue eyes. My slow brain caught up on the situation, and when I realized how turned on he was as well, I smirked.

"I-I think we should go somewhere else," he said, and his voice sounded so delicious all of sudden.

I nodded and pulled him with me, stumbling slightly because of my intoxicated condition. We were just about to leave, when Santana stood in front of me, a victorious grin on her face. I didn't really remember why, but something told me that that should irritate me.

"Before you leave," she said with a lewd smile, holding my jacket and wallet up, which I had forgotten all about in my sex-crave haze (or was it just my alcohol haze?). "I'll see you tomorrow, Lady." She turned to the man – Alec was it? – and looked him up and down before saying, "Told you he was interested."

Then she was off, and my horniness appeared again – the only thing my brain actually registered at the moment, it seemed.

His hands were low on my hips as we exited the bar, and I stopped up for a moment to remember the direction of my place. Then I nodded determinedly, and pulled him along, my hands under the thin cotton-shirt the whole time.

The walk back to my place was quick and filled with roaming hands and lustful looks. It was only everyday repetition that made it possible for my hands to unlock the door, since his hands were all over my body, lighting it on fire.

The second the door was unlocked I practically flung him in, and smashed him against it. He hummed loudly and when I sucked his tongue, he responded immediately, practically ripping my shirt off. In my alcohol haze I let him.

I didn't waste much time kissing – did it really count as kissing, when it was basically just our tongues fighting for control? – until I ripped off his layers, tossing them wherever, and leading him to my bedroom. He almost didn't get to let out a startled noise before I pushed him into it. From the way his eyes darkened and his crotch tightened, I think he liked it.

Now, I will spare you the ickiest details of my sex life – which consisted of one-night stands at the moment.

All I can say, is he seemed to enjoy it immensely, not that my fuzzy, instinctive mind thought about much else than my own delight, and how the tightness around me felt amazing, pulling me closer and closer to the edge, as I sped up my already frantic movements.

And how was I able to live without this, again?

When we were both done, I pulled out and he hissed quietly. Sleep overwhelmed me, making me feel even dizzier. I don't know if he stayed or not, and frankly I didn't care. Before I even got to pull off the condom, I was out like a light.

I woke up six hours later with a serious headache and extreme nausea, plus an awful taste in my mouth. The first thing I detected, was how my entire body felt like it had been dumped into a concrete wall from a very high altitude. Even my thick curtains didn't make the sun any less bright, only increasing the level of my severe headache.

That was until they were being ripped apart. I let out a loud groan as the brightness surrounded me, seeking cover under my comforter. I knew who it was instantly, and was confirmed in my suspicion, when high heels were heard on my wooden floor, followed by an unmistakable knowing voice.

"Looks like someone finally got their dick back in fuck-mode again. About time, too."

"Santana, I hate you to an absurd extent right now," I said, as I retreated from my shelter under my covers. "And if you don't put those curtains back again, I will fire you." Apparently the thread was enough to make her oblige – hadn't expected it, but at this very moment, I figured that the small miracles in life could just as well be appreciated.

"Way to talk to the woman, who has brought you all your favorite hangover snacks," she said sassily, before pushing the covers off me, making me yelp, first startled, then embarrassed when I realized I wore exactly nothing. "Ugh, really?" She said disinterested as she eyed my still condom-wrapped parts – or well… part, "could at least try to make an effort to make this bearable for my poor lesbian eyes – what was it too hard to take the condom off before falling asleep in your drunken haze?"

And at that I didn't even bother feeling as mortified as I should.

"For the record, though, I do believe that guy was lucky, you are a fine piece of ass, Hummel," she said thoughtfully. "You know considering you have a dick and no boobs. Not my thing, as you know."

And I felt mortified all over again. This woman was unbelievable. I snatched the blanket from her, face flushed red. "Please get out of my room," I said in a controlled voice, my head throbbing so painfully, I was afraid I might pass out.

She just shrugged. "I'll be in the kitchen. With a basket for your inevitable vomiting." And with that she left me alone with my headache and nausea and condom-wrapped dick. I felt absolutely disgusting.

 _Right_ , I thought, _this is why I'm able to live without it._

Fifteen minutes later I made my way into the kitchen, fully clothes and freshly showered – I would not mention how I may/may not have puked in it before brushing my teeth vigorously, probably doing more damage than good.

Santana had of course helped herself to my coffee machine, and my last bagel. She flipped a page in one of my Vogue magazines as I stepped into the room, sitting cross-legged at my dining table.

"Why are you here, Santana?" I croaked, sounding utterly pathetic, instantly noticing how it felt like someone had scraped my throat with sand paper.

"I thought I told you, Lady," Santana said, finally looking up at me from her – my – magazine. "I brought you gross hangover-food. And I wanted to make sure that you were alive of course – can't afford to lose my job, you know." I deadpanned and made my way to my coffee machine. "And that your house wasn't completely robbed or something."

I stopped my movements at the comment. "Oh God," I muttered. "I let him into my house, didn't I?" It wasn't actually a question. I had been very unfortunate, and remembered every single detail from last night. And this, ladies and gentlemen, is why I don't drink.

"You woke up with a fucking condom on your dick, Hummel," Santana deadpanned, and I immediately regretted my question. "I'll let you do the math, 'cause my poor lesbian mind has been traumatized enough for a lifetime."

"Stop saying poor lesbian mind, please?" I asked, my eyes closed in mortification.

"Learn to take your condom off before you venture off into inebriated sleepdom, please," she said, and I groaned.

"Next time, don't take away my comforter, Satan!" I bit back and winced at the throb in my head that my loud voice elicited.

"Okaay, sit down, Cripplepants." She had suddenly risen from her seat, taking over from where I was pouring my coffee – or trying to; my head didn't seem work properly yet. I didn't have the energy to fight her, so I obliged.

My head spun as I turned around, and the nausea seemed to increase as I sat, carefully placing my head in my folded arms on the table. A little while later, a cup of warm coffee and a large plate of French fries were placed in front of me. I didn't even thank her before eating, craving the salt.

"How can you not be hung over?" I asked her as she sat down and eyed my blend of coffee and fries with disgust.

She shrugged and found a jug of my favorite ice cream in her purse. Suddenly she wasn't so bad after all.

We spend the day watching crappy rom-coms and eating ice cream and fries – or well, I ate ice cream and fries. I wasn't entirely sure why she bothered to stay with me, but it seemed that my mind was too pissed at me after last night to cooperate, and I stopped trying to understand her angle. After several hours, though, when my mind had caught up, I was a little more able to.

"So, who was that guy anyway? Anyone special?" Her voice sounded casual, but I knew better.

"Satan, you did not just come here to remind me how pathetic and miserably alone I am," I scolded. "Rachel has that covered anyway."

"The mere presence of me makes people feel pathetic and miserably alone," she shrugged and I sent her a confused look. "So, who was he?"

"A guy I've never met before, Santana, and also someone who I will never meet again."

"You sure?" she actually sounded a bit surprised and I deadpanned. Again. "Because when I came, this was one the kitchen table."

She held up a post-it pad with a note scribbled on. I snatched it away from her before reading it. "You really have no sense of privacy, do you?" I asked before gazing at the paper.

Kurt, it said, I hope you remember me, or this will seem very odd. I know last night was very I would really like to see you again. I guess we can talk then – about last night and everything? My number is below. I hope to hear from you - Alec

Like he had written, his number was scribbled below his signature. I smiled at the half, crossed-out sentence.

"I mean, I would call him," Santana's voice said beside me. "He was _hot_. You probably don't remember, but he was."

"Satan… he was a hook-up," I said, laying the note away, but not throwing it away just yet. "I'm way too mortified to face him right now, anyway." I threw back my – much less aching – head, and let out a pained noise, this time not from physical pain. "Why did you let me get drunk, Satan? You know how I get!"

"Extremely horny? I know," she said with a smirk. "That was sorta the plan."

If looks could kill, she would be on lying dead on my living room floor right then. "You-"

"Kurt, look, you need this, okay? We all agree. Call him. Or come with us to the bar again and we won't drink, but try to find some sort of eligible guy for you." Her sudden use of my actual name shocked me, and the tone of her words made me downright question whether this was Santana or not.

"I don't-" I sputtered, but she sent me a look. "Okay, I admit, I've been weird lately, I've felt it, too, but that does not mean I _need_ a boyfriend, Satan. You know what happened last time I was desperate."

"We won't let you find some douche like Derek again-"

"Well, I won't risk it anyway." My voice was non negotiable. "And I don't _need_ anything. I'm just fine the way I am. Okay?"

She sighed and shrugged, finally seeming to give up. "Whatever you say, Boss."

I exhaled and smiled. "But… thank you Satan. I know you mean well. You all do. It's sweet that you care about me."

"Watch it, Hummel, or cotton candy will start pouring out of your ass."

I made a kissy face in her direction, which she made a scene of dodging, and I laughed.

I did kinda, sorta love her. Very much so.

The next movie started, and I teasingly wrapped an arm around her. She simply rolled her eyes. I directed my gaze at the TV again, but my eyes didn't miss the small post-it note before concentrating on the film.

* * *

 **A/N  
So, there you have it! Please let me know if you're still interested! :)) **

**xx - A**


	3. Chapter 3

**N &T**

 **A/N**

 **Hello! It's been so long, I know, I know, my life is crazy... But here's chapter three, hope you'll enjoy it!**

 **Sorry for mistakes (which I know will occur, because time is apparently overrated if you ask my life)**

 **Disclaimer: not mine.**

* * *

 **Chapter 3**

"And so they lived happily ever after."

The classroom was silent for a while before Julie, a blond, adorable little girl, raised her hand.

"Mr. Anderson?" she asked, and I smiled at her tiny, delicate voice.

"Yes Julie?"

"Do you think we all will find a prince someday, and live happily ever after? Or is it only princesses?"

The class looked at me in anticipation, and this was one of my favorite things; when they all held their breath, eagerly awaiting my response with their innocent eyes.

"Why Julie, I can't imagine why you shouldn't be able to," I answered, and the girl smiled in relief. "And you know, it doesn't have to be a prince. It can just be a normal girl and a normal boy. Or two boys or two girls."

The room was quiet, perceiving the new information.

"So, we will all get to live happily ever after?" Micah asked from his seat beside Julie.

"Of course you will."

"Mr. Anderson, is Mr. Bryson your prince?" Amanda asked, her thick curls bobbing slightly as she talked.

I inhaled sharply, taken aback by her question. The kids only very rarely spoke of Paul, especially since he had only once been in my class, because he had lost his key and needed my spare. He wasn't exactly as fond of kids as me.

I nearly always knew how to answer my kids' questions, but this time, I had absolutely no idea what to answer. My first response was no. No, he was not, but there was no other way, so that was okay. I had settled because that was the right thing to do. But I didn't want the kids to know that. I didn't want them to think that it was okay to pursue anything other than the very best, and since they would hopefully never be in my position, they never needed to.

But I couldn't lie. I never lied, not to my kids, not to anyone if I could help it.

Luckily the bell rang, saving me. The room, which had been completely quiet before, suddenly became alive, the kids jumping up and gathering their things into their backpacks.

"See you tomorrow everyone," I said and stood. Before I got to take another step, two small arms encircled my hips. I looked down and found Amanda there, her brown curls almost hiding her face completely.

"Goodbye Mr. Anderson," she said and let go. I smiled widely at her and kneeled until I was eye to eye with her.

"Goodbye Amanda," I said and ruffled her curls. "I'll see you tomorrow, am I right?"

She nodded vehemently, her hair going crazy, and she hugged me again. "You're the best teacher in the world, Mr. Anderson."

I melted momentarily and squeezed her. This was why I loved my job. "You're a great student as well, sweetie," I said, and she giggled adorably. "But are you okay? You don't normally come here and say goodbye."

Her little eyes were so innocent and pure as she answered, "You seemed sad, Mr. Anderson. And I don't want you to be sad ever, because you're the best teacher we have. The other teachers don't sing with us or laugh like you do."

I felt something tight knit together in my stomach at her words. Children had such an amazing way of perceiving things in a twisted, innocent way. And yet they always seemed to get it right.

"Well, maybe the other teachers don't know how to sing, honey," I said with a wink and she giggled again.

"Hi Mr. Anderson," a female voice said from the door and I turned around to see Amanda's mother, Mr. Carlyle, there.

"Oh, hi Mrs. Carlyle," I said and stood, my hand in Amanda's curls. "Amanda was so sweet to come by to tell me goodbye." The girl sent her mother a toothy grin and the woman smiled back. You could instantly see where the girl got her beautiful smile.

"I can see that," she smiled back and kneeled down. "Come on sweetie, daddy's at home waiting for us."

I watched her with adoring eyes as she ran into her mother's arms, a laugh on her face. "Is Daddy home?"

"He sure is, and we will go to the park and play ball and eat lunch. But we need to get home first, so say goodbye to Mr. Anderson."

The girl turned around, an enormous smile on her face that would make even Paul smile in endearment. "See you tomorrow, Mr. Anderson," she said and waved.

I smiled widely back and waved. "I'll see you, Amanda. Have a great trip to the park, okay?"

She nodded, her heart-melting smile in place, and Mrs. Carlyle smiled politely and wished me a good day before taking her girl's hand and leading her out of the classroom.

It was suddenly quiet, with the vacated seats and empty tables. I tried not to feel like a weight was being placed in my gut, when thinking of Mrs. Carlyle's words. _We'll to the park and play ball and eat lunch_. The blissful smile on Amanda's face, when she heard her dad had come home (he was a sailor and wasn't home much).

The feeling was familiar of course, one I had to endure every time I got to work. I knew very well that I would never be in Mr. and Mrs. Carlyle place, having an adorable little girl, who I could take to the park. Sometimes I wondered if that was why I subconsciously chose this job. I knew I would never have kids in my personal life, so I chose to have them in my professional one. That way I could have them in my life in some way. And even if it was on a professional level, it was worth it.

I suppressed a sigh and started gathering my things. I had a lot of time to kill before going home to my empty apartment. I decided that I really could go for a coffee.

"You WHAT?" I practically screamed into the phone, making people around me gaze at me warily.

 _"_ _I just sent him a text from your phone, relax Lady,"_ Santana's nonchalant voice said, and I swore I would kill her under my breath. _"It was not even dirty or anything."_

"How could I not have seen it," I muttered more to myself than to her.

 _"_ _I did it when you looked away, maybe?"_ she deadpanned. _"Gosh, you should be more grateful, Lady, I could very well just have saved your sorry excuse of a love life."_

"Gosh, why am I allowed to pick my own friends?" I asked, again directed more at myself.

 _"_ _I gotta go, Hummel, this girl I met just called, and I wanna get laid. I'll look forward to saying I told you so. 'Kay bye_!" And she hung up.

I sighed dramatically and rubbed my temples. Why was it so hard to understand that _I did not need them to play matchmaker._

Sure, I had thought of texting Alec, but not like this. I couldn't believe Santana.

Before I even got to check the text she had sent him (apparently prior that day at work) Rachel called, reminding me why I was seated at our usual coffee shop on a Tuesday – my Tuesday yoga class had certainly not worked after all, since I was completely tense again after Santana's brief phone call.

"Hey Rach, you're late, what's up?"

 _"_ _Kurt, I'm so sorry, but I have to cancel! Our asshole producer just called in an emergency rehearsal, something about an accident at the theater. I'm so, so sorry, honey."_

I sighed. This wasn't exactly a rarity. "It's okay, Rach. I'll just see you next Tuesday, okay?"

" _Sure! I love you!"_

"I love you, too, hon," I said, and hung up. Well, wow, this day was not going as I planned it to.

I figured I could at least drink some coffee, and stood to head to the register. As I walked I looked through my phone, going to text messages instantly. I almost let out an agitated groan when I saw Santana's text: _Hello Hot Stuff! Thought we should meet up sometime, maybe grab a cup of coffee sometime? Maybe a round two? ;) Let me know! xoxo – Kurt_

"Who the hell even writes xoxo?" I muttered in disbelief, but before my thoughts could answer, I felt something scalding drench my newly washed shirt. I let out a startled, pained noise, as the scalding coffee seeped down my torso and down to my pants.

Ready to throw a tantrum, I looked up at my shirts murderer, already in the midst of a yell, when my words halted to an immediate stop. Before me muttering all kinds of apologies and exclamations of mortification were the eyes that hadn't left my head in over two weeks now. And gosh, they were beautiful – how could eyes be that breathtaking? They were the exact same shade of hazel that I remembered, except my mind hadn't done them any justice. Or maybe they were just slightly different?

"Kurt?" he asked awkwardly, and I probably looked like an idiot, staring blankly at him.

"Blaine?" I asked just as perplexed.

"You remember me," he said with a small smile that looked slightly like relief.

I blinked a few times, composing myself before answering. "You keep saying that like it's some kind of surprise," I teased, and felt my heart stop. Did I just flirt with him? No. No, that was simply good-mannered teasing. That's all. Right.

He smiled briefly before shifting his gaze to my shirt again. "Look, Kurt, I'm so, so sorry, let me help you," he said, taking a handful of napkins.

"Oh, no, it's- it's okay, don't worry about it," I said, taking the napkins and dabbed the ruined shirt. Well at least it wasn't one of my favorites.

"No it's not, here I have a spare shirt in my satchel. It's nothing special, probably not something you'd wear, but…" he babbled, holding out a folded black V-neck.

"I'm serious, it's no big deal," I hurried to say, smiling slightly at the nearly frantic look in his eyes. He was quite endearing.

"No, please take the shirt, and I'll buy you a coffee while you put it on," he insisted, practically shoving the shirt at me, and the way his eyes pleaded… well, I couldn't say no. I just nodded dumbfounded and went to the restrooms to change.

The shirt was cotton, I felt instantly, and I approved of the V-neck – casual, yet slightly fashion-minded. It was a bit big around the chest, but otherwise it fit.

I found Blaine waiting for me outside the restrooms holding up a to-go cup. "The barista knew you, and said you always bought non-fat mocha," he said, his voice sounding adorably hopeful.

"Thank you that's perfect. And thanks for the shirt, you really didn't have to," I said. He just smiled bashfully. "Are you in a hurry?" I blurted it out before I even got the chance to think it over.

"Ehm, I actually just got off from work, so no," he said.

"You wanna join me? My friend just bailed on me." I tried not to notice how pathetic that sounded.

"S-sure," he nodded, and I noticed what was different about his eyes. They were slightly more open today, like he wasn't hiding as much as before. The kind curiosity that I had seen before was now clearer than ever.

We sat down at the table Rachel and I usually sat, and I tried to convince myself that this wasn't weird. I was just about to say something when my phone interrupted me. Blaine forgotten I groaned out loud when I saw the text from the guy Alec.

 _Hi Kurt! I'm so glad you answered! I would absolutely love a cup of coffee. When are you free? xoxox - Alec_

Oh god, he was that guy who overused, unnecessary adjectives – before you start, I know I do, too, but I never said I was my type.

"I'm gonna kill Santana," I muttered, and approximately there, I remembered Blaine sitting across from me with his curious, slightly amused eyes.

"You gonna tell me what happened there?" he asked with a playful tone that I instantly thought suited him.

For some unknown, bizarre reason – probably his eyes that made me feel like I could say anything to him – I answered as honestly as possible. "My quote-unquote friend just thought it'd be a splendid idea to text the guy I may/may not have slept with in a weak moment of my inebriated state, and asking him out for coffee," I said, rubbing my temple. "And he just answered saying he 'absolutely would love a cup of coffee', I mean how old does he seem to you?"

At my long confession, Blaine's lips pursed in amusement and, who am I kidding, shock. _And like that he thinks you're a promiscuous drunk, way to go, Hummel!_

"Well," he started, eyes glimmering, making them even more stunning. "I would say start twenties, since I would like to think you wouldn't sleep with an underage kid and you have… you know, standards."

I deadpanned and he chuckled. "Not when alcohol's in my system it seems," I said, and his eyes widened in horror. "Not that he was underage, he most certainly was not!" I hurried to say. "Gosh, I should stop drinking. And telling strangers about my admittedly pathetic love life. I'm sorry, you must think I'm all sorts of insane now." _Is it possible to buy a brain filter somewhere? Maybe if he just wore sunglasses I wouldn't feel compelled to say everything about my creepy self._

He just laughed at my rambling, still impossibly quiet and serene, right now standing in deep contrast to me. I felt something going gooey in my stomach at the sound. That was the first time I had heard him laugh. "Yes, well, I haven't run out screaming yet, so you must do something right," he said teasingly. Right. So he could tease as well. Gosh, it sounded so much like flirting, which obviously was not the case, but still…

"Right. Well, anyway, I'll start speaking about something else just in case," I said, afraid his annoyingly attractive looks would get to me if we kept the teasing chatter up. I would not risk starting sending him heart eyes or something equally mortifying. " _So_ , I'm actually curious, why do you have a spare shirt in your bag, exactly?"

He smiled sheepishly. "Well, I teach kindergarteners for a living, so I've learned to always bring spare clothes. Who knows when the kids decide to have a paint fight or something?"

I chuckled, absorbed by his calm demeanor and quiet voice. "I see. I personally would not be able to live in that kind of danger. Clothes are very sacred to me, you see." The words left my mouth before even considering the ruined shirt in my bag.

"I'm so sor-"

"No, no!" I hurried to exclaim. "I didn't mean it like that, I'm sorry. I just meant… Gosh I'm not very good at this am I?"

He chuckled and I couldn't help but feel a bit better.

"I know. I'm still sorry though," he said, and his voice was so earnest, like he was genuinely feeling incredibly apologetic for the accident.

"I assure you, it's okay," I said with a slightly amused smile, and he bit his lip and oh… he needed to _not_ do that because… Just, no. I hurried to say something before my mind crept me out even further. "And, I've totally forgotten how convenient spare clothes can be – I haven't carried them around since High School."

"You brought spare clothes to High School?" he sounded sincerely amused and curious as he asked.

And that was the starter for a conversation about childhood and we found out we were both from Ohio. I told him about McKinley, and narrow-minded idiots, and the New Directions, but strayed away from more personal info than that – I felt like I had told him way too much for a stranger today.

I found out he had been living in Westerville, just about two hours from me. He was a bit elusive while talking about himself, I noticed, but he kept looking at me with this genuine interest and curiosity, almost like he was intrigued. I had never met a person that perceptive and earnest, and once again, he sparked something in me, a deep sense of fascination and curiosity.

His eyes would still sometimes become completely undecipherable, mostly when we talked about him. He would keep asking me about me and my life, but in the end I felt like I had been babbling about myself and my life, while he just listened intensely.

"I feel rude here, Blaine," I said much later, after I had finished talking about Carrie Bradshaw for twenty minutes straight. "I keep talking about myself here. What about you?"

He shrugged, and once again his eyes became a mystery to me. "My life isn't very interesting, Kurt," he said, and the way he said it, like it was a simple fact rather than something I should pity him for… well, it did nothing for my growing fascination with him.

"I don't believe that," I insisted, moving slightly closer. "I know you grew up in Westerville and went to Dalton, which doesn't seem very uninteresting for me, considering I almost transferred there."

"Yeah, well why didn't you?" he asked, once again shifting the spotlight from himself.

"My dad didn't have the money," I shrugged, before turning the spotlight again. "I heard many great things about Dalton, though. And our show choir competed against yours. The Warblers, right?" He nodded. "I don't remember seeing your face, though."

"Well, I wanted to join, but," he started, but shifted uncomfortably, interrupting himself. "Well, my parents weren't fond of the idea, so…"

"How come?" I asked, a bit too eagerly.

He just shrugged while looking down at his hands, and didn't say anymore. I knew I had hit a sore spot and changed the subject. "But you like music?"

That turned out to be the right question to ask. Suddenly we were talking animatedly about favorite music and musicals, and moving on to movies and actors, then TV-shows and brainless reality-people. I felt like we could go on for hours, and he would still have something to ask or something to add. He was so easy to talk to – when the subject wasn't his personal life – and I immediately found myself liking him.

"Gosh, it has gotten late," I mumbled three hours later. "I'm so sorry, but I need to get home and make myself some kind of dinner. I have work tomorrow."

"Oh, of course, I'm sorry for keeping you," he said, and I nearly rolled my eyes at his (adorable) politeness. "I would offer to make dinner, but we just met, so I would feel slightly creepy if I did."

"Well, would it be weird if I did?" I asked, and slapped myself internally. _Smooth Hummel. Real smooth._ "My apartment is always so empty, and if you come with me you can get your shirt back as well." He smiled slightly, and I kept rambling. "And, of course it's not- I mean it's totally just as friends, I wouldn't be insinuating anything-"

"Kurt?" he interrupted, and I wanted to close my eyes in mortification, but couldn't quite tear my gaze away from his. "I would be delighted."

"Really?" I breathed and wow, I was really bad at this. "I mean, gosh how rude of me, don't you have a home and a boyfriend to get home to?"

Something seemed to deflate in his eyes at that, and I instantly felt bad for bringing it up. "Paul's out traveling," he said, and I understood the saddening in his eyes. If only that didn't bug me as much as it did... And God, _why_ did it bug me?

"Great!" I said, "I mean, not great that your boyfriend's out traveling, but, you know, great that… I'm just gonna stop. Follow me." He laughed and I had to stop myself from swooning the tiniest bit. He had a really gorgeous laugh…

 _Aaaand, stop thinking, Hummel!_

The walk to my apartment was quiet, but not in an awkward uncomfortable way. I realized that that was yet another ability Blaine had; he made me feel so strangely comfortable.

When we reached my apartment he had this glow in his eye – I detected it as awe. He looked around in my small living room/kitchen and gazed at the pictures.

"This' you?" he asked with his soft-spoken voice. I came up behind him and peeked over his shoulder, seeing the picture I had of my father and I. I was nine at that picture, and we were in the tire shop, arms slung over each other's shoulders – meaning his arm was over mine, while mine struggled to reach his. We were both smiling brightly into the camera.

"And my dad, yes," I said and smiled at the memory. It was just after my mother's death, and I remember that as the first happy moment after the tragedy. "I was nine."

"You look so happy," he said almost absentmindedly and there was something else in his voice; something even my super human-reading skills couldn't decipher.

"My dad means everything to me," I nodded. And then without thinking I added, "my mother died when I was eight, and we were pretty much each other's anchors after that."

He turned around, and I stepped back since we were suddenly way closer than what was appropriate. His eyes were wide and filled with empathy. What really touched me though, was how genuine it was; not the pity you saw in everyone else's eyes, when they tried to figure out how to react. He didn't do that. He simply looked at me with those _damn_ eyes and said with his low, soothing voice, "I'm so sorry to hear that, Kurt."

I smiled at him and half-shrugged. "Yeah, well, it was a long time ago. I've learned to be able to look back at my memories with her and smile instead of cry."

"That's a step many only hope to reach," he said, like he meant it, like he actually cared, and I smiled.

"And all without a shrink to help me out," I said with a slightly playful voice. When he actually seemed impressed my modesty kicked in. "Don't look so impressed, it was all my father's doing. Like I said, we helped each other through it. Without him… well, I don't know where I would be." And, wow, I had not planned for that many words to come out of my mouth.

He didn't seem to mind, though, as he kept looking at me in that way and- longing! That was the thing I hadn't been able to read before. It was clearer this time when he redirected his gaze at the picture. I was just about to ask, when he said, in a very quiet voice, "So, your dad accepted you? You know, despite you being gay?"

The way he said it almost broke my heart, and that moment, I learned the first personal thing about Blaine Anderson; his parents did not accept the fact that he was gay.

"Yeah, he did," I said, stopping myself from saying that like it was a matter of course. "Said that he had known since I was three, and that he loved me for who I was."

"Oh," he said, like that was some kind of dream scenario. I felt my heart ache, wanting nothing more than to pull him into my arms. Before I reminded myself that we had just met, of course.

"I take it your parents weren't as accepting," I attempted, but I instantly saw how his body stiffened and his eyes got that wall up again, like he was hiding an entire life story in there. It both frustrated and intrigued me to no end.

"That obvious?" he said, and turned around again to look over more of my pictures. Before I could say anything, he spoke, "That her?"

I smiled fondly, momentarily forgetting his stiff body and obvious attempt to redirect the conversation. "Yeah," I said instead. "I was six at that picture."

"She was very beautiful," he commented and I bit my lip, trying to hold back the inevitable feelings that thinking about my mother elicited. "You have her eyes."

"People say that, yeah," I said, only being half truthful. People always said I looked exactly like her. I tried not to think about how he just hinted that I had beautiful eyes. _Cut it, Hummel, that was not what he meant and you know it._

We kept looking at my pictures for a while. He would comment on some of them or simply smile. So many memories flooded my head when I looked at them, and I remembered how long ago I spent time looking at them; the pictures from my childhood, all including smiles and laughter, the ones from my high school years, my graduation – both of them – and my later life here in New York.

Somewhere while we gazed at the framed memories, I came to think how uneasy that would have made me feel in so many other companies – the intimacy of it all since the pictures where extremely personal and important to me.

But Blaine made me comfortable, more comfortable than I remembered being with anyone that wasn't family or close friends. I figured it was just his personality – the serenity he had, and the way he would look at you with those kind eyes, telling you he would never judge you. I quickly discovered that Blaine Anderson wasn't a person you stumbled across every day.

After I had showed him around and he had complimented my house – again sounding like he meant it more than people normally did – we gathered stuff to make dinner. I had decided that I had the energy to make something delicious after all and he quickly offered his help.

Luckily my kitchen was big enough for the both of us, and we could stand there somewhat comfortably albeit a bit close. I had found my mini-speaker, and we were both half-dancing along my cooking playlist, which mainly consisted of upbeat show tunes (due to our prior conversation, I now held the knowledge that we enjoyed the same taste in music, and I wasn't afraid to play that particular in most cases embarrassing list of songs).

All of this while making grilled salmon with my delicious pasta salad.

I had to admit I was impressed by his cooking skills; not many people out-cooked me, but I have to say he was close.

"You're an amazing cook, Kurt!" he said after the first bite, and I smiled taking a bite of the perfectly spiced and roasted salmon that he had made.

"I was just thinking how your cooking skills impressed me," I said with an easy smile. "I've yet had to meet a person that close to being a better cook than me."

He smiled bashfully, and I noted that he wasn't used to compliments, which, wow, okay, was his boyfriend stupid?

We talked easily while we ate, the comfort of his company never failing. I told him a lot about my dad and Carole and Finn. I was more personal than at the coffee shop, telling him about the stupid – repulsive – crush I had on Finn and the bullying I had endured in high school.

I even got a bit of personal things out of him, when we entered the subject bullying. He told me about his school and how he too was being bullied. He told me how he had been beaten up and that made his father transfer him to Dalton. I was slightly confused at that. I had gotten the impression that his parents were no way near accepting towards his sexuality, but they still transferred him to another school? When I delicately asked, though, his answer was cryptic, and not the "I was his son, and even if he disagreed with my sexuality, he wouldn't want to see me killed" I had been aiming and hoping for.

"I told him that it wasn't my sexuality that had caused the attack and he allowed me to transfer," was all he had said before rapidly changing the subject.

The food was long gone when I glanced at the clock again albeit reluctantly. It was getting late; I had work in the morning and Blaine probably had class. Still, I didn't want him to go. I didn't want the ease and comfort that I felt in his company to fade. So, I made a decision that probably wasn't very wise.

"Would you do me a favor?" I asked when we had removed the plates from the dining table. He looked at me with those eyes – honestly I've given up on trying to explain them – and said yes without even knowing what for. "I have this pathetically unopened wine from my birthday a few months back, and, as I've implied before, alcohol is not my best friend. Help me out and have a glass?"

He laughed at my elaborate question. "I would love to," he said and I hurried to get the wine. When I came back he, of course, was in the middle of the dirty dishes we had left after our dinner. I sighed at his politeness and shook my head.

"Blaine?" I asked and he turned around, rug in one hand and foam on his elbow. Once again I admired how handsome –meaning adorable, but you didn't think that about taken men – he really was. "You really don't have to wash my dishes. You're my guest, remember?"

He just shrugged. "I don't mind," he said and retreated the dish brush from the sink. "Dry or wash?"

I rolled my eyes with a smile, placed the wine in the fridge and took the brush – the politer choice, I decided. The silence as comfortable as always while I washed and he dried. I wondered how that kept being possible with a complete stranger.

When we finished I led Blaine into the sofa. "Now you stay here while I get the wine," I said pointedly and he chuckled. I hurried away before I let myself listen to it.

We instantly started talking animatedly, after some time, even more loosened up by the wine. At first I was mainly the one talking – after the open-up Blaine had had before, it didn't bother me too much. He seemed comfortable and content with simply listening and coming with input on my life, and I wondered if he really did possess such a natural interest in people or if he was simply playing polite. Something told me it was the first, though, if I read his eyes correctly.

After the wine had started working, though, he started talking a bit more – which interested me immensely, but that was another story.

We started discussing – even arguing – some of our favorite books and movies, feigning scandalization when the other wouldn't agree or overly exhilarated when we would be on the same side.

"Wait, wait, wait," he stopped me one point that evening, several hours after we had finished dinner, and by the second glass of wine. "You haven't read Harry Potter?!" This time he actually did seem scandalized. " _Harry Potter?_ "

I smiled sheepishly, not being able to contain the smile caused by his enthusiasm. "I just… okay, do you want the sentimental story?"

He turned slightly suspicious but wary, the alcohol making every feeling he felt evident in his face. "Am I gonna regret my outburst in a bit?" he asked, not even bothering to answer my question. How were we able to feel like age-old friends when we had just met properly that very day? Wine really did wonders.

"Yep," I said teasingly and he just looked at me expectantly. I sighed. "Well. My mother-"

"Of course."

"Shush," I scolded, still with an amused grin, in spite of the touchy subject. I needed to keep this wine-trick in mind. "My mother used to love Harry Potter. On my eighth birthday I got the first book – The Sorcerer's Stone. She told me we were gonna read it together - I had just learned to read. But we never made it past the tenth chapter. After that I was just was never able to read them."

As expected Blaine's entire face had gone from wary to apologetic and empathic. "Gosh," he said quietly. His voice was so soothing and calm, somehow making me feel a bit better about the memory, which indeed was quite touchy. "I'm so sorry, Kurt."

"You know what you ought to do? Become one of those people that make audiobooks," I said, and yeah, maybe alcohol wasn't the best idea when I was with Blaine. I decidedly placed the wine on the table, having had enough. Time to save my ludicrous outburst… "Your voice is really calming and soft." Said in the most un-flirty and simply friend-giving-an-advice way, like I was talking about anyone else.

He looked bashful at the compliment, clearly showing that he wasn't used to them. What was wrong with that boyfriend again? Anyway.

Luckily he seemed to get an idea and he seemed to get a strange, but somehow fitting mix of sly and hesitant. "Well, if you think so, then I have an idea. I'm gonna take my Harry Potter books to your place, and we are gonna read them together. I could read aloud to you if you'd like, and when you felt comfortable enough we could switch it up a bit, take turns. You need to have the experience that is The Universe of Harry Potter. No matter your age. I know it sounds childish, but I'm a teacher so I'm allowed, and I know for a fact that childish is necessary sometimes."

After the many words – unusual for Blaine – I widened my eyes. I didn't miss the way he sounded defensive in that last sentence, like he expected me to disagree. I saved it in my memory for when I felt like a Blaine-analysis. Instead I focused on his other words and felt a grin spread on my face. "Blaine, that's an amazing idea," I said with a soft voice because, really, who did that for other people? "I would really love that. And I remember actually loving the start of the book."

He smiled and nodded decisively. It was then I knew that Blaine wasn't someone I would let go of anytime soon.

It was getting darker and darker outside when I, with great reluctance, stood. "Well, it's getting really late, and I have work in the morning," I said and tried not to let the chagrin in my voice show too much.

He nodded immediately and stood as well. "Of course, I totally forgot, I have class as well," he glanced at his wristwatch, his eyes widening. "Gosh, look at the time! I have to be at work in seven hours."

"Oh, I'm so sorry for holding you," I said, but he naturally shook his head.

"Don't worry about it, Kurt," he said, and oh no, his eyes had that genuine, breathtaking softness in them right now, didn't they? Yeah. I had really never come across eyes like them. "I really enjoyed tonight, and we both forgot the time."

I smiled and hurried to take the glasses, to do anything other than look into those damn wide orbs. "I had fun as well. You know, I'm really glad you spilled that coffee now," I said and he chuckled bashfully – another thing he really needed to stop doing. At that moment I remembered the shirt I was still wearing. Just when I was about to head to my bedroom and change so he could take it with him, he stopped me.

"No, no, don't, it's okay," he said. "If you insist that I need to get it back, then bring it to work tomorrow. I'll come by and get it after work. I need an excuse to meet you again anyway," he said with a hopeful voice and a playful smile.

"Yeah, sure," I nodded, not being able to stop the warmth in my stomach that his words elicited. I really loved making new friends apparently. Or maybe it was the wine. Yeah. "I'll take my break when you come, then."

He nodded with a satisfied smile.

"So can I-"

"Maybe we could-"

We chuckled and he, of course, let me go first. Bastard. "I was just gonna ask if it was too forthcoming to ask for you phone number, new friend," I asked, adding the 'friend' there, so he didn't think I was flirting with him or something.

"Why, I was just about to ask the same," he said with a stage-shocked voice.

I laughed and gave him my phone to write his number in. "Well, Mr. Anderson," I said after seeing his last name - hadn't heard that before. Blaine Anderson. Nice. "It was a great pleasure to have coffee spilled over my shirt by you, and then spontaneously make dinner with you."

He laughed and nodded. "While I'm still terribly sorry about the spill, I must say I enjoyed dinner quite a lot as well," he said with the same hideous English accent I had been using, before cracking up. We were so awfully _not_ funny, but gosh, it was hilarious.

"We're awful," he repeated my thoughts and I nodded. We stopped laughing simultaneously, and ended up smiling at each other, suddenly quite close. I stepped back instantly, scolding myself. Of course I made it much worse for myself, because hey, I was me, when I without thinking stepped forward and hugged him briefly. First then I realized he must have slipped on his jacket and shoes while I put the wine glasses away.

He seemed startled at the contact, but welcomed it instantly, hugging me back, and gosh it had been long since I had hugged another man sober. Or, okay, fifty-nine percent sober. His smell instantly attacked my nostrils making me slightly weak in the knees. A strange, but somehow amazing mixture of something masculine and earthy and something sweet like vanilla...

Before I got intoxicated I stepped away, plastering a casual smile on my face. His seemed completely unforced, of course.

"I really did enjoy tonight, Kurt," he said with his easy smile.

"Me too, Blaine," I said sincerely, letting him go. "I'll see you tomorrow then?"

"Tomorrow," he confirmed. I smiled, and he returned it with a soft, beautiful one of his own that I'm positive made mine look vague and unattractive in comparison.

With that he turned around and exited the apartment.

I couldn't help but feel warm and strangely happy after he left. Not only was I on my way to discover the mystery that was Blaine Anderson, which meant that my mind would finally stop creeping me out, but he had also been so sweet and attentive. I had never met anyone so truthful and kind and caring. I had a feeling he could become one of my closest friends in no time – and maybe you haven't gathered that about me yet, but that is extremely rare.

That night I fell asleep with a smile on my face, blissfully unaware of all the things I was yet to realize.

* * *

 **A/N  
?**


	4. AN - NOT a chapter! (so very sorry)

Hi guys!  
First off, sorry if you thought this was a chapter, it is, unfortunately, not. I'm writing here because, as you've probably noticed, I have close to zero free time currently, and this story is really stressing me out, because honestly, I don't have the time to write anything. I really don't wanna let you guys down, though, so I'm not writing to say there won't be anymore chapters, but I'm going to ask you, is this story really important for you to finish? Because I don't want to sit and write for nobody's sake ;) but if you're very interested, I will of course find holes in my schedule and do everything I can, and you will just have to be even more patient than you already are. And please be honest, if you really just can't go on without the end of this story, you just say so! I can relate in every which way! ;)

Lots of Love  
A


	5. Chapter 5

**N &T**

 **A/N**

 **Hey, guys, this is not gonna be long. So sorry for the insane wait, but... well, I don't really have any other excuse than I'm crazy busy all the time. Sorry! Hope you're still reading?**

 **Disclaimer: not mine**

* * *

 **Chapter 5**

As planned Blaine – naturally – arrived to my apartment at ten AM sharp. With breakfast. Fortunately I was lucky that I had chosen to believe that he would come this early, and therefore tidied myself for his arrival.  
He beamed when he saw me of course, and I couldn't help but feel warm because of his presence. The usual.

We ate the breakfast first, talking now and then – I should have known he was his usual smiling and enthusiastic self in the morning since he was a teacher. For kids.

"So, where do we start?" he asked after we had finished breakfast and cleaned the dishes.

"Eager, are we?" I teased. "I don't know what your experience with housecleaning is, but it's actually not that exciting."

He grimaced playfully at me at that, but I felt like there was more to the subject.

We started in the kitchen since we were there already. Blaine was quite effective, and though he surely wasn't used to cleaning, he learned quickly. We wiped every surface clean and since I was feeling extra productive today, I cleaned all the tableware in my cupboards that seemed dusty or greasy to me. Meanwhile Blaine vacuumed, and when he finished – there wasn't that much to vacuum honestly – he helped me. We quickly found a rhythm, I washed, he dried.

"This is way funnier than I thought," Blaine said after a few moments of complacent silence. I looked at him curiously. His voice was calm and he was focused on the glass he was drying. "Paul insists that cleaning is for housekeepers."

"You have a housekeeper?" I asked, because honestly, who the hell had a housekeeper? He nodded, and to be fair he did look ashamed by it. I felt bad instantly, "Well, since Paul is out traveling so much, it's only sweet that he hires a housekeeper, right?" Every nerve in my gut protested when I defended his boyfriend, but I continued anyway. That's what friends do. "So that you won't have to do it alone. That way it's actually very thoughtful of him."

He sent me a half smile, as a 'thanks for trying'. My gut relaxed.

After the kitchen we moved on to the living room – I always scrubbed the floors after I had been through every room. After a while of silence, I decided to put on some music. Might as well have some fun, I thought. So I put on my best dance songs, and it went a bit slower with the cleaning from there. We did have a lot more fun, though.

It started out pretty innocent. We moved with the rhythm while we cleaned, occasionally singing along. It pretty much evolved after a few minutes. Our dance moves got more elaborate and we started singing louder – I was not at all surprised that Blaine of course knew the lyrics to the songs on my playlist.

To get to the point, fifteen minutes after I had started the music, the both of us were jumping up and down, singing from the top of our lungs. I used the spray cleaner as a mic, while Blaine used the scrubber he had been using. I don't really know whether our moves would be labeled as dancing or jumping, but whatever we did, Blaine was annoyingly good at it. I should have known he could dance. I tried not to look too much at the way his slender body moved, and focused on the ridiculous facial expressions he was pulling off. The both of us couldn't sing half the time because we were cracking up so badly. It was the most fun I had had in a very long time. Actually, as long as I could remember.

After a while we actually did manage to clean while we sang and jump-danced. Blaine was vacuuming the sofa with the mini-vacuum I owned – he insisted on vacuuming, since I had told him how much I hated it some time ago – and I had returned to the job of cleaning the surfaces in the room. I made sure to _not_ look in his direction, because he wasn't only bending down, he was moving his body – meaning his ass – up and down to the beat. It was insanely distracting, and he just had to have an amazing ass too.

As said though, I pointedly kept my eyes on the TV I was wiping clean. And after a while I did succeed in forgetting a bit about how attractive he was, and simply danced and sang. Every now and then we could catch each other's gazes and we would smile wickedly or crack up.

We kept this up through the entire house, including my bedroom, which we pretty quickly finished, since it was pretty tidy anyway. Meaning I had cleaned it on beforehand so that I wouldn't risk Blaine seeing the contents of my second top drawer. While he knew that I sometimes hooked up with people, I did not want him to see the lube and condoms I kept in there.

We were both sweaty and exhausted when we finished. I had ordered him to sit and let me scrub the floors since he had vacuumed every room, and when I joined him in the sofa his eyes were closed.

"Told you it wasn't as exciting as you expected," I said teasingly. The music was still playing, though not so loudly anymore.

"Are you kidding?" He asked and reopened his eyes, looking at me incredulously. "That was the most fun I have ever had! We need to do this again."

I laughed. "Well, you're very welcome to become my co-housekeeper," I said, and though it was meant as a joke, his eyes lit up.

"Can I?"

"Blaine, are you serious?" My eyebrows were raised in confusion and he just nodded vehemently. "Well, it would certainly make my Sundays a lot more pleasant to look forward to. But I mean, just to be clear, you can always skip if you don't feel like it, don't feel obligated to come. God knows how many times I've wished I could skip."

"I want to, and I know," his voice was hopeful, and I was so confused by his obvious exhilaration.

"Well, then sure," I simply said, a smile spreading on my lips when he beamed. He really was adorable – platonically said, of course.

Since we were two, we had finished at least two hours before I usually did, and now it was only half past one. We were both exhausted, though, so we decided to relax on the sofa, while watching bad reruns of America's Next Top Model – commenting every five minutes.  
Only when our bellies literally growled for food, did we stand up and make something. 'Something' turned out to be a simple pasta salad with tuna – the only things I had in my apartment, since it had been forever since I had been out to buy groceries. We ate in front of the TV as well, occasionally yelling at the TV, when the judges said something ridiculous to the poor girls – or vice versa. The comments would vary from "Try to do that yourself Turtleface, and see how 'easy' it is," and "Wow, someone really woke up in the bitch-side of the bed, huh?"

After eating I pulled Blaine with me to the grocery store, since that too was something I usually did on Sundays. Blaine followed, albeit tired. I don't think I had ever seen him being reluctant about something I had suggested. I couldn't help but feel that that wasn't a bad thing - I felt it more like he was finally showing me more of his personality - this being the admittedly adorable, tired one.

"Uh Pop-Tarts!" he exclaimed when I had almost gotten all the things on my grocery list. "The housekeeper never buys this stuff, because Paul apparently told her not to." Then, as if he had caught himself cursing in a church, he looked down and shut up. Waiting for my question.

I ignored my curiosity and chose to surprise him. "That stuff is for kids, Blaine," I said amused. "And quite disgusting."

He looked at me slightly confused before going with it. "Well, I happen to love it. And since I work with kids, I'm once again excused."

I laughed and rolled my eyes. "You can't use that excuse every time," I said and he simply stuck out his tongue at me. I let out a loud laugh, probably making people around me look, but I didn't care. "Gosh, those kids really are rubbing off on you."

"I resent that, I consider myself very mature, thank you very much," he simply said back, his nose in the air. I simply laughed and took the Pop-Tarts he still had in his hand.

"If you say so, sweetie," I said in my best maternal voice. He pouted, once again supporting my argument in him being a child. When I pointed that out he simply pouted harder and crossed his arms over his chest.

And even as a platonic friend, it was impossible to deny how endearing he was.

As the hours went, Blaine shifted more and more into his calm self. It seemed so natural, though, and I still felt that he was comfortable enough in my company to be himself. It warmed me, in a strange, unfamiliar way. I decided that it was probably my lack of experience when it came to making new friends.

We made dinner together like last Sunday, and once again it felt so natural and easy to cook with Blaine - plus we were both darn good at it. Music played in the background, but this time, instead of upbeat show tunes, I had put on my relaxing jazz playlist. At this very moment Frank Sinatra was singing about strangers in the night, and I had just put our shepherd's pie into the oven - we hadn't felt up for a challenge that evening.

As always we chatted lightly when we ate, but mostly kept quiet, enjoying each other's company. I found myself doing that a lot when I was with Blaine; simply shutting up and relish in the fact that I wasn't alone in my apartment for once.

When we finished we moved on to our sacred tradition, as it had become: Harry Potter.

"Here," I said when he took the book. He looked at me with startled eyes. "You can eat your disgusting Pop-Tarts while I read. I figure it's my turn anyway." A small smile spread on his lips. He knew very well that that wasn't just a casual gesture from my side. The fact that he knew, and valued it, made me feel that warmth all over again.

"You have a very calming voice as well, you know?" he said later on, when it was too late to read another chapter. "You could get one of those jobs as well."

"I don't think my British accent is quite developed enough, sadly," I said, with a teasing glint, though the compliment had made me feel slightly giddy.

He chuckled. "I'm serious, though. Your singing voice - when you're not screaming the lyrics," I laughed, thinking about previously that day, "must be stunning."

I smiled and shrugged. "Most people found it too feminine, I guess. I'm as countertenor as you can get. Soprano would probably suit me better. I was told many times that I was too girly to be on Broadway, that I could never get the good parts. And honestly I had seen it coming."

"That doesn't make sense," Blaine said, sounding truthfully upset. "Broadway is for _special_ people, with unique talents, why the hell wouldn't you be an amazing contribution? Your voice is what sets you apart, right?"

I almost felt like blushing at his words and his obviously genuine confusion and irritation towards the acting-industry. "Well, maybe they thought it wasn't in a good way it set me apart," I shrugged. "But hey, it's okay, I'm pretty used to it. I guess I first started realizing it in my senior year of high school and they wouldn't let me play Tony in West Side Story because I was 'too delicate'. I should have taken that as a sign. Theater wasn't my calling."

Blaine looked at me with a sad smile and those damn eyes that made me slightly dizzy. "Even so," he said quietly. "You would have made an amazing Tony, Kurt."

I looked down - mostly because I couldn't concentrate when his eyes were trained on me like that - and fiddled with my hands in my lab. "Thank you, Blaine."

That night when we hugged goodnight, he squeezed me once before letting go, I came to think if it was weird that we did that every night; hugged goodbye. But with those eyes focused at me, nothing seemed weird at all. I went to sleep in an exceptionally good mood.

The next day Santana was acting strangely at work. She didn't have her usual bite in her voice when she spoke, and she sounded weirdly distracted when talking to me. Since I still was in a chirpy mood, I chose to ignore it, and instead thought about how Blaine would come over again tonight. I smiled at the thought. If I had known making new friends was this exhilarating… then again, other 'new friends', despite how much I loved Danni and Elliot, didn't really come close to Blaine.

Santana didn't stop like I had thought. At the end of the night, when we were closing, my curiosity got the best in me and I decided to confront her. Expect she beat me to it.

"So, did you ever write that Alec-guy back?"

The question startled me, and for more than just one reason. "Shit!" I exclaimed and ran to my jacket. "I've totally forgotten about him. Wait, how the hell am I supposed to come back _now_ and say that I wasn't interested anyway?"

At my words her face changed slightly, and I saw her go into friend-mode. It confused me. "Look, Kurt," she started, and though her voice wasn't exactly soft, it wasn't lewd or obnoxious either. Oh God, what now? "Maybe you should not? Reject him, I mean."

I raised my eyebrows at her, and had positively no idea where she was coming from with this. "And why wouldn't I?"

"Well, why would you?" she challenged.

"Because he was a casual hook-up, Satan," I exclaimed. I didn't want this now. Not after this wonderful day. "I don't date hookups."

"Why though? He actually did seem nice, you know?" And gosh, what was with her today?

"Please Satan, I'm begging you here," I said, feeling the irritation in me ignite. "Rachel basically spends every Tuesday coffee-date playing matchmaker, which now that I think about it, she probably will tomorrow as well. I do not need this at my workplace, okay? So either cut the crap and be real with what's going on or shut up. Please." And like that she had ruined my perfectly good mood.

Her face didn't even change very much at my words, didn't even seem that annoyed, and oh, something was wrong. "Look," she said, and her voice sounded so off, like she was pleading for something. Santana Lopez did most certainly _never_ plead. Ever. "I just want to see you happy here. And… I can't tell you, 'cause you'll yell at me, or something, but just trust me when I say that… I'm trying to help you here. And that Alec-guy could be more eligible than you think."

I was pretty sure I had never been more confused, and it annoyed me. "I don't know what you're implying here, Satan," I said, and I actually didn't sound irritated, just plain confused.

"You don't _need_ to, okay?" her eyes begged me. It scared the shit out of me. "Just trust me."

"So, what you're saying," I said very slowly, not the slightest bit less confused than before, "is that I should try to date this guy, whom I've only ever hooked up with and who you've never met properly. You, and by you I mean the most overprotective friend on earth regarding my dating-life, are saying that I should date him for some mysterious reason, which you can't tell me. Because I'll yell if you do?"

"Correct," she nodded.

"You are not making the least bit of sense, Santana," I just said and shook my head. "But Blaine's coming over and we still need to count the cashier, so I don't have time to argue. And I want to go back to being in a good mood. So, you're lucky tonight."

"Hasn't that Blaine-guy 'been over' like every day last week? And the entire weekend?"

"Jealous that I'm making new friends, Satan?" I asked teasingly and she just rolled her eyes. I did not, however, miss the way her eyes narrowed slightly. As if in worry. I shook my head and decided she had to have PMS or something. That made girls act all weird, right? Yeah. That had to be it.

When Blaine went home that night, I for once hadn't forgotten everything around me. Santana's words kept swirling in my head. For reasons I can't say… What did that even mean? …Okay, so I wasn't stupid, a part of me knew what she meant and why. She didn't understand, though. Blaine and I were _friends._ Sure he was attractive but many people were, and even though I most certainly had noticed, it did not mean that I needed a distraction, or whatever it was Santana's deal was. Maybe she just _was_ jealous.

I threw myself on the couch and looked at my phone again. The text from Alec lit the room up slightly. I lay there for many moments, contemplating. I knew I had to text Alec back, of course, and apologize for sucking at answering (I had figured out a white lie for that one, though, saying my phone had been broken or something). But I had no idea what to say. Should I take him out?

Pros: Santana said he had been nice - which that note he left sorta confirmed. And the fact that he didn't steal anything from my apartment. And that he left so we wouldn't have to endure the awkwardness of 'the morning after'. So, yeah, he was nice (Despite his weird adjective-use – a usual sign for immaturity, but I could take my chances?) And if I remembered correctly, he was really handsome. Not Blaine Anderson handsome, but the fewest people were. I quickly shook my head free of any thought about Blaine Anderson. _Not while you are thinking about dating, Kurt!_

Most importantly he was interested.

Now to the cons. As you know, my history with dating… not good. I had tried dating for so long. I had tried and tried and it always failed miserably, leaving me with an empty, gut-eating feeling that I wasn't good enough – that there was something wrong with me.

Up until then I had kept myself off the hook – before Alec it had been ages since I had slept with someone. I had stopped dating because I had told myself that I didn't need it. I didn't _want_ it, because I couldn't risk getting that feeling.

But maybe Santana had been a bit right then. Maybe I did want it. Having Blaine here had made me realize it, bit by bit. I wanted someone here to help with my Sunday-cleaning - and by someone, I mean someone I could wake up to and make breakfast to, before we get started. Someone I can stop up and kiss when he was, say, dancing in the most delicious way, or moving his ass to the sound of the beat. I wanted that someone.

And maybe that really _was_ the mysterious reason Santana couldn't tell me. She probably thought I would lay all those feelings on Blaine. And to be honest, I could understand why she would fear that. I did, too, I wasn't stupid. Blaine was… Well, point is, I couldn't develop feelings for him, so maybe- maybe this Alec-guy was worth a shot?

I stopped my reign of thoughts there. _Do not overthink this, Hummel._ So, I opened my phone again, and wrote out a reply, pressing send before I could stop myself. I took a deep breath and looked at it.

 _Hi Alec! I'm so sorry that I haven't written you back until now._ (I ditched the white lie, since I was asking him out anyway) _I am writing to say, that I would be delighted to have a cup of coffee sometime. What do you say this Sunday afternoon - 4 o'clock, meet me at my place? - Kurt_

I nodded to myself. I could do this. I could start putting myself out there. I did, however, have a strange uneasy feeling in my gut the rest of that evening.

If only I had known myself the slightest bit better…

"So, are you excited for my opening night on Thursday?" was Rachel's greeting when I sat down at our table, coffees in hand.

"Sure thing," I said. "We can't wait! You're gonna be an amazing Elphaba!"

"I know," she said and sipped on her coffee, before looking up with curious, hopeful eyes. "Wait, we?"

"Blaine and I, of course," I said. "He was so happy that he could come, too. Surely you sent me the extra ticket so that he could come as well, right?"

"Well, yeah, I mean, I had actually thought you would bring that Alec guy? Santana mentioned that you had texted him back and- oh then. Well, that's great, I haven't been able to meet this mysterious Blaine yet, so…"

"Rach, are you okay?" She seemed flustered.

"Yeah, of course," she nodded. "But I am curious about this Alec-guy."

I sighed and took a big sip of my coffee. "Well, I did text him back. Santana was acting all weird in the shop yesterday, and said that I should text him back 'for reasons she couldn't say', I mean what was that?" She nodded with a, staged, confused look on her face. Wait a minute… "You-you're with her?"

"N-no!" she exclaimed. "I'm with you, Kurt. But you know that I think you should put yourself out there, so yeah I agree with her. In some perspectives."

"Wait what does that mean?" Gosh, why did they have to be this confusing?

"Nothing, just- go on, Santana was acting weird?" she tried to deflect. I narrowed my eyes at her, but decided to let it go. I would probably get it out of her at some point anyway.

"Well, she advised me to write that Alec-guy back and after thinking about it I did," I shrugged. "I don't know, I feel like I should start, you know, trying again? Blaine has made me realize that maybe I'm not that bad at relationships - you know platonic as it is, and all, friendships and romantic relationships can't be all that different in some areas, right?"

She nodded, though she looked slightly worried. I still had no idea what was up with that.

"And, well, he also made me realize that I like it when I'm not alone in my apartment."

"It seems like this Blaine-guy does wonders," she said, with a small smile. "I mean here am I, trying to get you out of your shell of denial for two years now, and then he just comes sweeping in and convinces you in a week."

I chuckled. "When you look at it that way…" I felt my face soften. "But yeah, I really like him, Rach. I don't think I've ever felt this way about a friendship. He gets me, you know?"

She smiled again, but I saw the worry in there clear as day. Sometimes I wondered how the hell this woman had become an actor when she was so easy to read. "Hey, are you okay?" I asked.

"Y-yeah," she nodded, a tad too eagerly. "I'm just… I don't know, I feel a bit jittery because of the show and all. I'm really nervous, you know?"

And okay, that actually did make sense. "Oh, Rach, you're gonna be amazing, of course you are."

"Well, I hope so," she shrugged, and this seemed to be one of those seldom moments, when the insecure girl that hid in her would peek out from her hiding place.

"Hey, it is," I said. "Rach, you are physically unable to fuck this up. You're way too good."

She smiled and small smile, and sent me her softly teasing, stern look. "You make sure to come visit me before I go on, right? The tickets I sent were both VIP so you can come and go as you'll like. Oh, and make sure to bring Blaine after the performance!"

I nodded. "Of course. To both." She smiled appreciatively, and oh, okay, I did love her. "Hey so how's Finn? I haven't seen him in forever!"

That night was the first time Blaine didn't come by at night to read, after we had met. It was strange. I had gotten so used to him just being there - all in less than a week, wow, Hummel - and it felt so empty when he wasn't. Even eating without his calm voice made me uneasy.

I rung him after eight as we had planned - he had a lot of kid's essays he had to do, and they took a good four hours to get through, he said. I had chuckled and promised him to call again after eight.

"Hi you!" he answered after the second ring - another thing about Blaine; he always picks up.

"Hey yourself," I said with a small smile, feeling myself relax slightly at the sound of his voice. "I was just checking in to see if you were ready for Thursday. Rach said today that she was looking forward to meeting you after the show."

"Uuh, well, if Rachel Berry, up and coming Broadway star says so, then I can't be anything but honored, right?"

"Please make sure to not say that to her when you see her. Her ego can't tolerate it."

He laughed his low, gentle laugh. "Well, I'm terribly - and when I say terribly, I _mean_ terrible-y - polite. So I can't promise that."

"You don't think I've noticed?" I teased and I could practically hear him pouting. I laughed.

We kept talking for about an hour and a half before he announced that he was exhausted and needed to get up at the crack of dawn, so he had to go. We said goodbye - I instantly missed our regular hugs - and hung up.

The silence in the apartment that followed made me think that sleeping was a great idea as well.

As usual Blaine picked me up at work - luckily it was with Kate, and not say, Santana. I had arranged for my other coworker Susanne to replace me, since I had to go a few hours earlier to get to the show in time, which started at four.

I instantly noticed how he had styled his hair a bit differently that night - a bit nicer than normal. He looked all kinds of handsome in his navy winter coat and striped scarf.

"So, why are their opening night on a Thursday? Seems rather random to me," Blaine commented the moment Kate had said goodbye.

I shrugged smiling at the easy, comfortable feeling Blaine always would elicit in me. "Dunno," I said. "But good for me that I have flexible coworkers, or I would have a problem with one Rachel Berry."

"Don't you ever get tired of working?" Blaine said incredulously and shook his head. "I mean Sunday is your only day off. I live for my weekends."

I just went him a wry smile, wrapping my coat closer around me – it was slowly getting colder outside. "Well, in my perspective your work is much more exhausting than mine."

He just grimaced funnily, and I laughed. "Shall we go, Mr. Hummel?" he said, offering his elbow to me with a formal bow.

I rolled my eyes and nodded my head in response, looping my arm around his. "Why, kind sir, I believe we shall."

And once again I smiled at us – all easy smiles and laughs, and light, comfortable conversation. I treasured it immensely.

We decided to walk in Central Park for a little while before the show started – a love of strolling was something we had in common, and it had quickly become a regular thing for us to take a walk in the park we both loved.

The weather was, as you would expect in start November, chilly and cloudy. The wind wasn't too harsh, though, and the cold breeze that whizzed through my hair, ruining it in its way, was somewhat refreshing, despite my previously stated hatred towards it. Somehow, with my arm linked with Blaine's, though, it didn't touch me one bit that my hair was getting messed up. That was just the calming effect he had on me.

As usual the walk was quiet and comfortable – I feel like I use the word 'comfortable' too much, but there really is no other way to describe it. That was yet another thing Blaine came with: an easy, complacent silence. Every now and then we would comment on something and the other would hum or nod in response. This time, though, he startled me with his soft-spoken comment.

"Paul never liked to walk like this. Always said it's a waste of his time."

I had no idea what had made him open up like that, but I welcomed it instantly. "He doesn't know what he's missing," I said softly. "It's so relaxing. Especially in the winter time, since there aren't as many tourists then."

"Yeah, I think so, too," was his answer, and though it was a little thing, I felt something warm settle in my stomach at the thought that he trusted me enough to talk about his personal life – for Blaine I had quickly come to realize that he didn't do that with everyone. Speaking of…

"Hey, why do I never hear you talking about your friends?" I asked, hoping I wasn't prying. "You've had to keep up with me rambling about my crazy ass ones. It's only fair that you get to, too."

His face became unreadable (gosh, it was frustrating when he would do that!). He shrugged. "I don't…" he hesitated, and yep, he was uncomfortable, great job, Hummel! I waited for him to finish though, not wanting to push. He smiled his sheepish, slightly embarrassed smile. "I don't really have that many." I felt something in me fall. That was _not_ what I had been expecting. It couldn't be true, come on, it was _Blaine Anderson_ we were talking about, only the sweetest, truest person alive. No way he didn't have 'that many' friends.

"Come on, that can't be true," I said, genuinely confused. He heard that, of course, and smiled sadly at me.

"Well, I have my best friend from Dalton. Wes," he said. "But… we, eh, after… We had a break, but we've become closer again. His roommate Brittany is also a close friend of mine. And I guess I have David as well, also a guy from Dalton. He doesn't live in the city, so I don't know if he counts."

"Of course he does," I said, relieved to hear he hadn't been completely truthful before. I wanted to desperately to know what that break he was talking of was all about. And after what? He had moved to New York? Something in the way he said it made me think it was much bigger than that.

I didn't ask, though. If he had wanted to tell me, he would have. I just had to be patient.

"I'm looking forward to meeting your said crazy ass friends, though," he said after a quiet moment, and I smiled his way. His nose was getting red as well as his cheeks, and he looked all sorts of adora- _stop it!_

I cleared my throat and nodded a bit too eagerly. "Y-yeah me too!" I said, praying he didn't hear my stammering. "They'll love you," I assured. "Maybe a bit too much."

He laughed and I looked away. "I'm sure I'll like them, too. After all, you do have impeccable taste in friends."

I looked at him again, this time with raised eyebrows, and he winked, wiggling his eyebrows. I burst out laughing. "You are such a dork."

He simply smiled and put on a knowing look. "You love me."

I just rolled my eyes at him, tightening my hold around his arm, and ignored the tingling feeling in my stomach. It was probably the cold.

We arrived at the theater about five minutes before the doors opened. As always when I entered a theater, I got this strange bittersweet feeling – also why I so rarely came to Rachel's show despite how much I supported her. I don't really know how to describe it other than a nostalgic longing.

I had expected it of course. Today, though, it was extra strong, since the play she was in was, as known, a reproduction of Wicked. Also the play that Rachel and I had been dreaming of starring in back in high school. And to add to that, we had sneaked in and sung on a real Broadway stage – much like this one now that I looked at it. The song: For Good.

Blaine broke off my thoughts when he – naturally – sensed something was off. "You okay, Kurt?" he asked worriedly.

I sent him a half smile and nodded. "Sure, sure, Wicked is just… I'm fine." I shrugged it off and he sent me a concerned look, but didn't comment further. Something told me he didn't let it go, though.

We quickly found our seat – third row, thanks to Rachel's tickets. I felt something warm envelope my hand, and I looked up to see Blaine's caring eyes at me. He smiled soothingly and gave my hand a squeeze. I reciprocated with a grateful one of my own.

The show was of course amazing, Rachel wonderful as ever as Elphaba. I was amazed to realize that she had gotten even better than the last time I saw her. I felt extremely proud of her, but there was something nagging me, too. I shook it off me, and it worked up until the scene with For Good came. Blaine instantly noticed how tense I got, and I felt his thumb run up and down the back of my hand. For some reason it worked. I sent him a half smile, and he simply looked worriedly back.

He didn't let go of my hand the entire play.

After the show, Blaine and I went backstage with the passes we had gotten. When we entered her room, Rachel was in the midst of removing her make-up, wearing a dress robe. When she saw us, she instantly squealed. She practically ran to me, hugging my organs out.

"Kurt, I'm so happy you came!" she said, and I beamed down at her.

"You were incredible, Rach, absolutely breathtaking," I said and kissed her still greenish forehead.

"I was, right? I thought so, too," she said and I rolled my eyes fondly. "I'm so glad it went as expected. I was so nervous."

"You're Rachel Berry, there's no reason to be nervous," I simply said, and her smile became even wider.

She looked behind me, probably noticing Blaine, and she pulled away from our embrace. "Oh, gosh, I'm being rude, hello!" she exclaimed, looking Blaine up and down, not really hiding her admiration. "I'm Rachel Berry, Kurt's best friend," she beamed and Blaine chuckled and shook her hand.

"It's a pleasure to meet you at last, Ms. Berry, I've heard plenty about you," he said with a playful, but charming smile. "And can I just say how truly amazing you were tonight. Oh, and I'm Blaine but the way. Blaine Anderson."

She just smiled dazedly at him, suddenly resembling a thirteen-year-old meeting her celebrity crush for the first time. I really should have seen this coming.

"Is _this_ him, Kurt?" she asked, turning her head towards me, her eyes bulging out slightly, making her look like a lunatic. "Why didn't you tell me he was _this_ gorgeous?" And the way she said it, completely revealing that I had mentioned how attractive he was, made me scold her with my eyes.

Blaine simply chuckled beside her, his skin flushed slightly red.

"You have a boyfriend, Rach, remember?" I asked resignedly.

"Well, a girl can appreciate beauty when it is presented-"

"Ookay, and I think we're done," I said, and Blaine flat out laughed this time. "Where's Finn aka earlier mentioned boyfriend aka _my brother_?" I made sure to emphasize the brother part, making her conscious about the fact that she was basically hitting on Blaine even though she was with my brother. Because that was why it bothered me.

"Oh, he was just here, but he went out to buy flowers, since he had forgotten them," she said and rolled her eyes fondly. I smiled.

"Well, tell him hi from me," I said. "Blaine and I will go now, before you start embarrassing yourself further."

"It was a _pleasure_ to meet you, Blaine," Rachel said with a wicked smile, ignoring my last comment. "I truly hope we'll meet again."

"Likewise," Blaine nodded with a wide, amused smile. I pushed him out of there before Rachel could ask him out or something.

"You did tell her I was gay, right?" he asked amusedly, when we were entering the cold November air.

"Well, I said you had a boyfriend," I shrugged. "She probably assumes that you're bi or something. I mean you don't exactly fit the stereotype 'gay'."

He chuckled and shook his head. "She would assume incorrectly. Gold star gay," he said, then nudged my arm with his elbow. "And what do you mean by that?"

"Well, look at you, Blaine, it's not like you scream gay or anything," I said, dodging eye contact. "I mean people always just assume I'm gay because of my voice and my movements and whatever. They wouldn't with you."

He could feel how uncomfortable I suddenly was, and stopped walking to look at me. "Hey," he said. He still smiled a small smile, but his eyes had gone from teasing to serious. "Don't. Your voice is beautiful, Kurt, and your movements are most definitely _not_ feminine or whatever you meant by that. They're _elegant_. There is a difference. Some people just don't know uniqueness when it is staring right at them."

I sucked in a breath of air, and he just kept looking at me with those _damn_ caring, genuine, freaking breathtaking eyes. It frustrated me how dizzy I became. "Thank you, Blaine," I said with a small voice, and before I knew it, I was hugging him, and his familiar, amazing smell, enveloped me. How could he know how sensitive that area was for me? How could he know exactly what I'd always hoped, but never expected, to hear? "You know, you are slowly becoming my best friend, right?" I said before I could stop myself. "No matter what Rachel says."

When I pulled back, his eyes were slightly glazed. I suspected the cold. "You know, you _are_ my best friend, Kurt," she said and I couldn't help the wide grin spreading on my face as I once again looped my elbow around his.

The rest of the walk was spent in comfortable silence.

That evening we cooked lasagna, as a bit of a late dinner since it was Blaine's favorite meal ("I know, Blaine five years old, but lasagna just never fails to be amazing.")

We had eaten in semi-silence for a while, quiet music playing in the background when he spoke hesitantly. "I was planning to ask you, but I got distracted," he said, and I peeked at him over the glass I was sipping at. "Tonight. You seemed so… tense. Were you okay?"

I felt something heavy set in my stomach, and I looked down at my food. "I, eh…" I said, not knowing what to say.

"You miss it, don't you?" he asked very quietly, his eyes getting wide with that earnest expression of his. I sighed.

"No," I said, and shook my head slowly. "No, I don't miss the theater business. I don't miss the people and the stress and the pressure to be better than the others."

"But?" he asked.

I inhaled deeply and looked him in the eye. "But I miss the performing of it all, I think. I- I miss standing on the stage at seeing people on their feet, clapping." He kept looking at me and as always I couldn't stop talking. "I mean, you have to understand that performing and Broadway- it was my dream up until I was in my twenties. As a kid I would daydream about the stage the crowd. It was the way I escaped the real world, where all the other kids teased me or told me I was weird because I liked to play with the girl's toys sometimes. As a teenager it was the same, only I was escaping from much more serious bullying.

Like I've said before, I had planned everything with Rachel; when I would win my first Tony, which musicals I would star in. Even when I would retire and become a coach instead. We had it all figured out, Blaine, but then I realized that it wasn't what I had always thought it was. And that- well, that still hurts today.  
Don't get me wrong I _love_ my job, and I love what I do – I wouldn't trade it for anything. But I- I still get disappointed sometimes that the dream I had used to believe in so fiercely just… never existed. Especially because when Kurt Hummel sets his mind to something… well, I don't give up so easily."

I hadn't even realized how much I had revealed about myself – more than I had ever done to anyone, even my dad – before I stopped talking. I was just about to panic, but then I noticed Blaine's sincere eyes, and I felt myself relax and remember that I was safe.

He simply placed his hand on top of mine, and he sent me a caring smile. Then he looked down and bit his lip – making me look away instantly. When he spoke again, his voice was small and hesitant, like he was uncertain whether he could say what he was about to.

"When," he started, and I rearranged our hands so that mine was on top, squeezing reassuringly. He smiled hesitantly and started again. "When I was a kid I used to dream, too. The same way you did. Only not for the kids in my school, but…" He seemed to struggle with his next words, and I felt myself begin to worry.

I stood up, not letting go of his hand, and led him to the sofa. I sat down, urging him to sit beside me. "C'mere," I said.

He obliged and sat closely beside me. I placed a comforting arm around him. "You know you can trust me, right?" I said with a quiet voice. "You can tell me anything."

He nodded and leaned into my embrace before continuing. "I was escaping my parents." I nearly sucked in a breath of air. That was the first time Blaine had as much as mentioned his parents after that first night in my apartment. "They were… they _are_ not very- caring. They had priorities that went far above their only son – their money, their jobs, and most importantly, their image. Everything they did was because of their image. The only reason they got me was because it would make them look better in their… social circle."

The mere thought of that seemed so absurd that I had to interject. "Blaine, honey, I'm sure that's not true…"

"They told me," he cut me off bitterly. "They made sure to tell me at least once a week when I got older. When I was younger they were okay, from what I can remember. I liked it when my mom would dress me up with bowties and small dress suits. I liked it when she would look at me approvingly when I used my strictly learned manners correctly. My father was always worse than her. I don't think he ever said he was proud of me, no matter how hard I tried." I felt something raw and heavy claw in my stomach at his words. "I began playing the piano – again because of their image. I practiced every day, and found that I enjoyed it. After that I bought a guitar and taught myself how to play. It quickly grew to be my free space, where I could escape my parents' strict rules and stupid reputation."

He bit his lip before continuing. "What I wanted to say with this is- well, I know it's not at all the same, but I lost that dream as well, Kurt. I know what it feels like to lose that. And I'm so sorry you have to go through that as well."

I wanted so desperately to ask why. _Why_ did you lose it? Where are your parents today? Why do you seem so strangely unhappy sometimes when talking about your personal life? I didn't ask though. If was ready to tell me he would have done it before. I knew that even sharing as much as he just had, had been hard on him. So I let it lie, and squeezed his side.

"Thank you, Blaine," I said quietly. "For sharing that and… and for understanding. You know, I've never told anyone that before and… well, for some reason I'm able to with you." Once again, I had said much more than planned. And as usual he didn't mind one bit.

"I feel the same way, Kurt," he said after a while, his voice small. We pulled back slightly and looked at each other, and that was the first time I had been so close to him. I instantly smelled his mouthwatering smell, and I was able to see every tiny fleck of gold in his eyes, making my legs feel wobbly.

We pulled away quickly, chuckling at the unexpected proximity.

That was the second night I began contemplating whether or not I was being a naïve fool.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N**

 **N &T **

**Hiiii! Wow, it's been long... are you guys even still reading? I'm really sorry, but I have so little time... I don't even know if I've answered all the reviews - I'm so sorry if I haven't, but you don't know how much I appreciate them! If any of you have forgotten what went on in the last chapter (I don't blame you) let me fill you in: Kurt's got a date! So, here's chapter six!**

* * *

 **Chapter 6**

"So what are our plans this Sunday?" Blaine asked Friday evening when he was about to leave for the night.

"Oh, eh, I actually have a date at four," I said slightly awkwardly for some reason. Alec had answered me a few hours prior saying he 'couldn't wait' (I was just grateful that he seemed to remember the way to my apartment).

He seemed startled at first. Then his features softened into a smile. Damn, those glistening eyes were killing me. "A date?" he asked with an intrigued voice, wiggling his eyebrows. I had to smile at that ridiculous gesture - frankly I couldn't stop it if I tried. "Why, who is the lucky sir? And how come you haven't told your bestie?"

I rolled my eyes, ignoring the admittedly very good question. "You're disgusting," I said, and he laughed out loud. "Remember that first time we met at Starbucks when you decided to drench my shirt in coffee?"

"Ah, yes, decided is the exact word I would use as well," he nodded and I grimaced his way at his sarcasm.

"Yes, well, remember why I was hating Santana that day?"

He let out a sound that indicated he did. "Yes, I do," he said. "Decided to go for him after all then? That good in bed?"

I rolled my eyes again, and stopped my thoughts when 'good in bed' came out of Blaine's mouth, making my mind run in all sorts of not-allowed directions. "To be true I actually don't remember," I just stated, deciding to go casual and truthful. "But Santana and all the other girls have practically been shoving me out there again. So, to shut them up I decided I could at least give him a try." Okay, so half-truthful.

"Only to shut them up, huh?" he asked seductively, and while I knew what he meant, my mind started considering all the other meanings that statement could have as well - once again, I stopped it. See, this was why I hadn't told him about the date, I decided.

"Yes," I said way too quickly, and luckily for me he only got the meaning he had been implying before - to be sure you're not confused, he thought I wanted in bed with the guy again.

"Well, Kurt, I'm happy for you," he said, and oh no, soft, genuine Blaine was back, and no way, I was discussing my dating life with him - I would probably lose track of what I was saying I find myself staring into his endlessly languid eyes or something. Not good. "You really do deserve to get out there as well. After Derek and all." And how did he know about Derek again? Right I had told him. _Damn you for telling him everything, Hummel!_ _And damn you Blaine for making me feel like I can._

"Yeah," I said dryly, trying to find something witty to respond but, not very surprisingly since his eyes were boring into mine again, without luck. "Thanks."

He said goodbye and that he would see me again on Sunday - he had plans with his friend Wes Saturday aka the next day - to which I simply nodded, with an absentminded smile. He stepped forward and hugged me, and I came to my senses again when his amazing smell hit me. I wished I wasn't only able to smell it when we were hugging - just like his voice it had this strange calming effect on me. He pulled back way too soon and stepped out of the apartment with his usual happy grin.

Okay, so there was a slight possibility that Santana had been right. Actually, I probably needed to send her a gift basket or something for getting me to go on a date with Alec. Except that would mean I would have to endure her say 'I told you so'.

Idea cancelled.

So, maybe I was the tiniest bit in trouble. Tiniest. To be fair, it wasn't my fault that Kurt Hummel needed to be so… Kurt Hummel-ish. It wasn't my fault that he had to have those eyes; sometimes green, sometimes blue, sometimes both. It wasn't my fault that he had that impeccable, pale skin or that jaw line, or those damn legs. Or that way he would look at you when you talked, or the way his face softened when he talked about certain subjects. Or the way that he cared, the way he was passionate and-

So yeah, if you haven't caught on yet, I had detected my attraction towards Kurt Hummel a while ago - okay, so ever since the first day I saw him. But I will repeat what I said. _Tiniest_ bit in trouble, meaning not much. Because while Kurt Hummel was gorgeous, it did not mean I was attracted to him in any other way. Yep. I mean, no.

Because I had cut myself off from those kinds of feelings long ago, back when I decided that Paul was my only choice. I had known that there probably would become obstacles with it, and I had known that I would have to ignore it if there would. I knew that it would go over anyway. Eventually. And it would with Kurt Hummel as well. If it didn't, I had become an expert in suppressing my feelings anyway. And yes, that sounded depressing, but I was okay with it. And luckily it's my life so don't feel bad for me, please.

Now, you're probably dying to know what it is I keep talking about, but… Well, let's just say that story is for another time.

Back to my point: so what if I was feeling a little compelled towards Kurt? So what if my gut had made this uncomfortable churn when he said he had a date? He was my friend. Those ridiculous feelings would pass and if they didn't… well, then I would ignore them with all my willpower until they _did_ disappear. Simple.

I nodded to myself decidedly and then looked around self-consciously. I had been so lost in thought that I had completely forgotten about my surroundings - which right now consisted of a crowded subway train. I glanced at my wristwatch. Five minutes and I would be at Wes'. Honestly I was looking forward to seeing him again - it had been ages ago since I had last seen him, and beside Kurt he was the only close friend I had in New York.

I trotted my way to his apartment in the upper east side of New York, naturally – he was a big-time lawyer after all – close to our place, actually. His place didn't look like ours, though. It was big, but he shared it with his roommate Brittany, both so good friends that they decided to keep living together - it may have had something to do with the fact that Wes didn't like the thought of Brittany living alone. She was, well, her own kind of intelligent and not exactly the most responsible type. Contrary to our place, theirs had so much personality. Framed pictures where on their walls, and Brittany's cat's toys where everywhere to be found. That and Brittany liked colors, which could be seen, though mostly in her room since Wes didn't want pink walls and green furniture.

"Hi, Blainie," Brittany exclaimed the minute she opened the door, tearing me away from my thoughts. The next minute I had her slim figure around me in a tight hug. If I weren't the gayest of the gold star gays I probably would have found her very attractive; she had blond long hair and a slender face with wide, innocent eyes. She always smiled her slightly distant, sweet smile. "I missed you, precious dolphin."

"Hey Britt!" I said and squeezed her. I had become used to her strange way of talking. "I missed you, too. Where's Wes?"

"In the kitchen, I think," she said and threw herself on their big white couch, snuggling up with her extremely obese cat. Lord Tobbinton the Second, I think she called it. While she chatted happily with it, I went to search after Wes. I did indeed find him in the kitchen making some sort of oversized sandwich.

"Hello Wesley," I said, making my presence known and he spun around a wide grin plastered on his face.

"Blainers!" he exclaimed and I rolled my eyes at the name. I did however step up to him give him a one-armed hug.

"Missed you, bro!" I said.

"Of course you did," he shrugged and I rolled my eyes. Same old, same old.

We sat down at their dining table, coffee - that I had made myself, of course - for me, and his huge, rather gross-looking sandwich for him. When I pointed that out for him, he simply looked at me with an appalled look on his face before taking a humongous bite. And he kept asking why I had never crushed on him.

"So how's McDouchepants?" he asked. "Did you finally break up with him? That why you're so happy?"

So, yes, Wes didn't really hide his dislike towards Paul. "Wes," I said with a pleading voice and he simply sighed, and looked at me expectantly. "No, okay? And you know why I can't so stop mentioning him like some kind of disease, okay? He's my boyfriend."

Wes just snorted. "Blainers, this 'reason' that you call it, it's ridiculous. You don't owe him _anything_ , okay, you don't owe _any_ of the-"

"Can we not talk about this?" I asked, rubbing my temples. He always had to bring this up.

His face softened slightly, and he kept his eyes trained on me for a second before nodding. "Fine. Entertain me instead with the source of that dopey glint in your eyes you have. What's going on, you and the kids came up with a revolutionary new painting technique? Or maybe you made a new song about the alphabet?"

"Well, I actually did that last thing-" he sent me a look and I sighed. "His name is Kurt, okay?"

That suddenly caught his attention and he looked at me with a mischievously interested smile. "Kurt, huh?"

"Yep," I nodded. "He's quite amazing, actually. And you know how I'm not very good at making close friends, but… I don't know, Kurt makes it easy, I guess. I don't even know how it's possible, but in only two weeks he's as close a friend as you are."

He raised his eyebrows. "Except we aren't fucking."

"What? Kurt and I don't sleep together, Wes," I said unbelievable. Didn't the guy _just_ ask about my _boyfriend_.

"Oh, is he straight?"

"No."

"So, he's ugly?" Wes asked and I furrowed my brows in genuine confusion. That thought was absurd.

"Absolutely not?" I asked more than said.

"Taken?"

"No!" I was beginning to sound annoyed.

"Then I don't understand."

I let out an exasperated sound. "Two gay guys can be friends without sleeping together, Wes. Especially when one of them has a boyfriend," I emphasized the 'boyfriend' but Wes of course ignored me. "You and Britt are a perfect example, you're both straight - or well, half-straight in Britt's case - but nothing more."

"Does that count as well when said 'one' doesn't love the 'boyfriend'?" Wes just asked ignoring the last comment.

"Wes, please!" I said, my voice no longer as controlled as before.

He rolled his eyes, as if he was the one who ought to be annoyed. "Fine! But if you wanted to have it coated in candy cotton, you should have called David. So, tell me about this friend Kurt."

I almost sent him a scowl at the mocking way he said 'friend' but decided to let it go. Instead I allowed myself to think about Kurt and smile. "Well, remember that shirt I sent you?"

He nodded. "Quite neat, actually, thanks by the way."

"One of his designs," I said, and oh, that came out sounding like a proud father, didn't it? "I bought it in his shop." _Yees, Anderson keep that up and he will definitely believe that you aren't attracted to him._

Luckily Wes ignored the tone of my voice and inquired further about Kurt. Ten minutes after, I realized I had been talking nonstop about him. I shut myself up effectively. Wes had a knowing, smug look on his face that bugged me immensely, but since I didn't feel like discussing something I knew he was right about today I ignored it.

Instead I turned the conversation on him and he told me about the firm - boring lawyer, as you know, I would personally die - and this girl he had been seeing a bit, but wasn't really serious with. "Work takes up too much of my time," was his argument. As always. I did admire Wes that. He was one of those guys that genuinely didn't need romance in his life as long as he had his job and friends - and one night stands. It could wait, he said, and he could see if he had the energy later on for a 'serious relationship'. If only I was so lucky.

After animated talking and catching up Britt waltzed into the room, half-dancing as always. "Hey honey-pie, do we have any more of that cereal I like."

"More like 'only eat'," Wes snorted and Britt just smiled, looking slightly confused as always. I loved the pairing that was Wesley and Brittany; Wes, the valedictorian, always-top-of-his-class, I-have-everything-under-control, prep-boy, and Brittany, the cheerleader, who everyone misunderstood and thought was 'stupid' when really she was just smart in her own way, who was so sweet and innocent, but not the most responsible, as earlier stated. Their friendship was one of the most unique and unexpected ones I had seen.

Brittany did find her cereal after all, and she poured herself a bowl before joining us at the table.

"How is business going, Britt?" I asked. She was a dancer, and a really good one, too. She told me animatedly that Mercedes Jones had asked her to dance in her music video, and that Mike Chang, her dancing partner, had told her that it was one step in the direction of becoming her permanent dancer. Then she went on to tell me about Lord Tobbinton the Second and the new tricks she had learned it to do. "Now I just need to know what to tell him when I want him to stand up again."

When I told her about Kurt, she insisted that she had to meet him soon. "He sounds special," she said with her dreamy voice. "Like a unicorn."

After promising her - and Wes - that she - they - would meet him, we made dinner together.

I had almost forgotten how much I too enjoyed the company of Wes and Britt. Their personalities suited each other so well, making a great balance for me - not too much of Wes' questioning and not too much of Britt's, well, confusing statements.

By the time I went home I had almost forgotten about Kurt and his 'date' and the way that thought made me feel uneasy. Instead I went to bed and looked forward to the next morning's housekeeping with my new best friend – and nothing more.

I spent that entire Saturday distracting myself from my thoughts. I woke up early and immediately started on the things I wouldn't have the time for Sunday – or, correction, I _hoped_ I wouldn't have the time for. I changed my sheets and went out to buy groceries. When I came home and saw I still had an hour before I had to be at work, I decided to take a long shower, turning on the music so loud that I wasn't able to hear my own thoughts. In addition to that I sang, slash screeched, along.

Santana had the day off, for which I was incredibly grateful, and Danni was at work. I kept both of us occupied, sending off to tidy up a bit in the back room, while I took care of the costumers and cleaning. When she inevitably asked if I was okay, I simply put on a smile that I hoped fooled her and nodded. "It's just been ages since we actually cleaned up a bit in here." I ignored the fact that we vacuumed every day, and so did she. Once again, I was very thankful that it was Danni and not Santana that was at work today.

After work I had planned to do dinner and the movies with Danni and Elliot – Rachel had a show and Finn was with her of course, and Santana wasn't an option. I knew I was going to be third wheel of course, and though I would prefer a theater show, Danni wasn't the biggest fan, so we went for the movies instead. Honestly I didn't mind. They made me think of something else than confusion towards my friend and my date the day after. And honestly they weren't as bad as I had feared – didn't make out during the movie or something equally gross.

I came home late, fortunately, and decided to take every single framed picture down to clean and dry them, smiling at the occasional memories. Also a perfect distraction. Then I carefully chose my outfit for the next day – date-worthy and all. I didn't feel too tired after like I had hoped, though, so I went to call my dad – he never failed to make me feel better.

"Hey kiddo," was his greeting and I smiled. "Care to tell me why it's been so long since we've talked?"

"Hey Dad," I said. "I'm sorry, I know I've promised to call at least once a week, but I've been… busy." I had actually just forgotten all about calling my dad since Blaine had been over close to every night, and that's when I usually call him.

"Busy, huh?"

"Yes," I said quickly, and please do not ask…

"With what?" Should have seen that one coming, honestly.

"Well, with friends and stuff," I said, and hey, that wasn't even a lie.

"What's his name?" Why had I though calling my dad was a good idea?

"Blaine," I sighed in defeat. "He's a very good friend, and we've been spending a lot of time together." _The moron said, failing completely at sounding casual. Bravo, Hummel._

"So he's not someone… special?"

"Not in the way you're implying," I said with a stern voice. "I'm serious, Dad, he's just my friend, and besides he's got a boyfriend."

"Oh, so he's gay?"

"Dad…"

"Kidding, kiddo. How are you holding up, though, the shop going well?"

I smiled at the change of subject and told him all about the new designs and how Isabelle kept using my ideas after stealing my notebook where I drew. When he told me how proud he was, I actually did forget about my messy life for a few minutes.

Afterwards he filled me in on Carole and him and the tire shop, and I said I couldn't wait to come home for thanksgiving and see them again.

"So, why don't you bring that Blaine-kid over for thanksgiving?" my dad asked at the subject, and I nearly face palmed. "Since he seems to mean that much? And he lived in Westerville, didn't he?"

"Y-yeah, I don't think he'll be coming home to his parents, Dad," I said. "They're not exactly close, I think."

"Oh." I could hear my dad's understanding and smiled appreciatively. Even more so when he didn't question it further. One thing my dad did was respect other's privacy. "Well, then if he doesn't have other plans with that boyfriend of his, bring him anyway. He can stay here if he wants."

"With Rach and Finn in the house as well?" I asked dubiously, because this was weird; with Derek, my prior _boyfriend_ , Dad didn't like the thought of him coming in the house to stay over at thanksgiving – he was very sacred about his traditions.

"He can stay on the couch or something," my dad said, and though he tried to sound casual I detected something else. If only I was able to see his face I could determine it.

"I'll talk to him, Dad, but he probably has plans," I said, and this time I lied. I knew that Paul was out traveling with his engineer business or whatever, and that Blaine… well, what was he going to do?

Dad and I talked a bit more before hanging up, and I was pleased to actually feel tired. As to not make my thoughts bug the hell out of me, I made myself count to hundred, and during the third try it worked and I fell asleep.

I woke up startled at a knocking on the door, and wait, why was it this light? My eyes snapped open and I sat up in shock, instantly feeling my body protest at the sudden movement.

"Hey Kurt?" A voice called out, and oh God no… "Wow, that must be a first," his voice said, amused. And of course there stood Blaine impeccable as ever in a red cardigan and denim pants neatly folded by the foot, leaned against the doorway to my bedroom. "I thought you said you always woke early?"

"I-I do," I stammered, standing up, too tired to be embarrassed. It was only Blaine after all. "Apparently not today, though." A huge yawn interrupted me, and when I opened my eyes again, Blaine was looking at me with amused eyes and… yep, look away. Like that, good, Hummel. It was most definitely not adoration, don't be ridiculous, Kurt. I was too tired for this.

"Come on, let me make you breakfast then," he said, gesturing for me to come.

"No, it's okay, you can just do whatever while I get ready, and I'll make breakfast," I hurried to say, but he merely sent me a 'really? You think that's gonna happen?' look before turning around and walking the small distance to the kitchen. "Go get ready, silly," he simply said, already looking through my cabinets. I rolled my eyes, most definitely _not_ smiling, and hurried to shower, brush my teeth and get dressed.

When I entered the kitchen again, Blaine had his back to me. He seemed to be in the midst of frying eggs, but I didn't dare looking at him too long – remember that perfect ass-thing?

"What time is it?" I asked instead, even though I could have just looked at the clock hanging behind me.

"A little past ten, I would assume," he said, smiling my way, pan in hand. I ignored the way my belly fluttered at that. It was hunger, I decided, because that really did smell amazing. "You are becoming a late sleeper, sir."

I rolled my eyes at him, and felt myself relax slightly. No matter what, his company never failed to calm me. I walked up to him and sat on the counter, beside the stove he was using. "Shut up, stupid, I just got home yesterday. Date with Danni and Elliot. That smells amazing, by the way."

"Ah, third wheel date, sounds fun," he teased. "And thank you, kind sir."

"Stop calling me sir, Blaine," I laughed and he smiled mischievously before joining me in laughing. "And they weren't that bad," I defended, and he told me he was only kidding.

I asked him about his visit at Wes and Brittany's and he told me about his evening, talking about how much he actually had missed them and making me laugh with Brittany's comments. They did seem quite the pair, even if they weren't a couple, and when I said that to Blaine, he agreed instantly.

"So, are you ready for your hot date tonight?" he asked as we sat down and ate. "You look good by the way; he'll fall for you instantly."

I rolled my eyes and tried not to blush at his comment. Instead I shrugged, playing it cool. "I don't really know what to expect." As always with Blaine, I told the truth without it even being on purpose.

"Hey, it'll be great," Blaine said, and if only those eyes didn't mean it so much. "And you make sure to call me right after, I want all the juicy details!"

I snorted. "There'll be no juicy details, Blaine. Not like that anyway. Believe it or not, I don't actually sleep with people on the first date."

"Well, I still wanna hear all about it," he insisted and I just smiled his way. "And if you decide he's eligible, I will have to meet him."

"What are you Santana now?" I asked and he shrugged.

"Only the best are good enough for you, Kurt," he teased and I rolled my eyes again. "Hey, I'm actually serious. You deserve this, Kurt, and he doesn't have what you want, then he's not worth it."

I felt warm at his words, and smiled a small smile. "Where did that come from?"

He shrugged and suddenly seemed self-conscious and got that look in his eye... Just like when he talked about his family. My interest was instantly piqued. "I just- I don't want you to settle for anything, Kurt. You just deserve more."

His words sounded so bittersweet and I began to think that this was more personal than anything else he had ever told me before – with the exception of his parents, of course. "That's very sweet, Blaine, but- I mean, are you okay?" And how the hell was I supposed to simply breeze into that subject? It's not like ignoring it was an option.

"Yeah, of course," he simply said, and just like that the look was gone. "You're just my best friend – even if we've only known each other for like two weeks. And I watch out for my friends." Fine, so I had to let it lie, for now.

I chuckled and cooed. "Sweetiie," I said and he chuckled with me. I ignored the way his eyes seemed to glisten and how warm it made me.

The cleaning went as the previous Sunday. We put on loud music and made one big dance out of it. And for once I let myself laugh and have fun without over thinking everything. I sang along, and made duets with Blaine, using whatever tools we had as a microphone. I danced carelessly and so did he and I made sure not to let my gaze linger.

We finished early this time despite the music and dancing, and ended up exhausted on the couch at twelve.

"You really are an amazing singer, Kurt," he said, still panting slightly from all the jumping and dancing – while nearly bursting with laughter – we had made. I looked at him and he sent me a teasing smile. "Don't think I didn't notice."

"Have you heard yourself, Mr. Modest?" I said, and rolled my eyes. "You know, you could have a singing career if you wanted to. Many people would kill for that voice of yours."

He smiled sheepishly like always when I complimented him. Then shrugged it off. "I don't know, Kurt, I think that anyone who knew true talent would go for you." I sent him a look, and he shrugged with an easy smile. "I'm serious."

I just shook my head.

"Are you not taking me seriously?" Blaine asked, feigning offence. I just kept looking at him with raised eyebrows and now the glint of a smile on my face. "Why, Kurt Hummel, I don't think that's very nice of you."

I chuckled, and before I knew it, I was scream-laughing, half in shock, and half because he practically was attacking me with tickles. I squirmed to get away, but his hands were strong and kept me in place. He smiled mischievously and I told him to stop between breaths, which he ignored of course.

"Say you're taking me serious," he sang and kept tickling me, crowding me with his body and making it impossible for me to escape – especially considering the weird things my body did when we were this close.

At first I denied, closing my eyes and shaking my head violently like a little kid. He burst out laughing, and I tried to escape his hold of me then, but he was stronger than he looked, and simply placed his arms on mine. Upside of that: he couldn't tickle me.

We ended up on the couch, him on top of me, looking all sorts of victorious. "You have no choice but to give up, Hummel," he said, panting slightly again, and did he not know what that did to a person?

"Never," I said defiantly, and he raised his eyebrows. Then with one hand he grasped both of my hands with his right arm and let his left wander down to my ribs. Before he even touched I let out a yelp. "Okay, okay, okay!" I exclaimed. "Fine. I give in, you're the deepest person I've ever met, Blaine Anderson, and I totally take you serious."

He seemed to contemplate that a little, before nodding approvingly. "Why, thank you, Kurt, where did that come from?"

I sent him a look, which he replied with a mega-watt, self-satisfied smile. That of course made me slow down a bit, while my heartbeat did the exact opposite. Because suddenly the tickle fight was over, and he was on top of me, holding my arms above my head. His scent was, as if deliberately, everywhere, making it harder to focus on anything. And most importantly, his face was close. Way too close, exposing his golden eyes, where I could suddenly see flecks of green and brown as well. Exposing his plump lips, half parted as he still breathed hard.

If he hadn't broken the moment – wait, did we just have a moment, or was it something I had just made up? – I wouldn't have been able to. His smile was back, this time all sorts of mischievous and teasing. "So, I'm lying pretty well here," he said, feigning nonchalance, and oh, was that why I couldn't breathe? Because his entire body was on top of me, troubling my oxygen-intake. He let my arms go, and instead folded them on my collarbone with a sated, staged look, like he wasn't going to leave anytime soon.

"Anderson," I warned in between stuttering breaths, panting as well.

"Darn, are we back at second-name basis now?" he asked, and I breathe-laughed, trying to shove him off me.

"You know for a little person, you're so much stronger than you look," I struggled to say.

"Little person?" he said, feigning shock. "I resent that." I just rolled my eyes, and would laugh if I could catch my breath properly. "Fine, I'll let you go," he finally said in a defeated voice. "But only because I wouldn't want to go to jail because I suffocated my best friend."

"Ah, yes, jail is most definitely the worst part of killing your best friend," I nodded, as did he, laughing slightly as he stood up. I made a show of how I could breathe again, taking exaggeratedly deep breaths and grasping my chest. "Air," I wheezed. "Air everywhere."

He grimaced at me and pulled me up. "Moron," he said, and I laughed out loud.

We ate lunch together, deciding to go out. Our arms swung together carelessly, connected by the elbows. I couldn't contain the constant smile on my face as we chatted and joked and laughed.

Way too soon the clock struck three, and I had to go home to get ready for my 'hot date', as Blaine so nicely had put it. He hugged me tight when we parted, making a show of squeezing me, and I made a joke about how he just didn't like it when I could breathe normally, ignoring the smell that as usual made me slightly dizzy. He laughed and sent me kissing faces as he walked away.

"Call me afterwards!" he yelled as he walked, and I rolled my eyes at him, turning around and walking to my apartment. I could hear his laugh behind me.

As I walked home, I came to the realization that I was alone, and I would be so in an entire hour. And I had at least ten minutes' walk to my apartment from here. Time where I couldn't distract myself with anything. Crap. I considered calling someone over, but honestly it didn't make sense for someone to take the time to come over just to leave again when I had to go.

So, I gave up. And I gave in to my thoughts. Denying them wouldn't work out in the end anyway.

So, Santana had been right; I was crushing on Blaine. Denying it would make it worse. I was crushing on my best friend, and there was nothing I could do to stop it. _Now_ , I told myself, _there's no need to panic just yet_. Because yes, I was crushing on Blaine, but who the hell wouldn't? And yes, I would get over it, because… well he was my friend and taken. And in under an hour I would be at a date with a nice, handsome guy, and he wouldn't be a problem to fall for. I would give Alec a chance and let myself be free for a little while, and I would forget how Blaine's eyes made my heart flip or how his scent made me dizzy.

I smiled for myself, feeling like I was able to breathe properly for the first time in days. This would all be okay. Why had I even been distracting myself for so long so I wouldn't have to think about this?

I hummed to myself, as I got ready. I _felt_ ready, so could I do much else? My outfit was impeccable along with my hair, and I didn't have food in my face or between my teeth. I brushed my teeth, just making sure, putting on a tiny bit more of deodorant and cologne; noticeable, yet still subtle.

The last ten minutes was used to check the apartment, which of course was silly because Blaine and I had tidied and cleaned it prior that day. The only thing that stood out was my sofa, which was messed up pretty well. I swallowed at the memory, but shrugged it off me before straightening the pillows and refolded my blankets. At five to four I nodded approvingly. I was ready.

Alec came exactly on time. A good sign. He was nicely dressed in a light button-down and black jeans showing off an acceptable understanding of fashion. Another good sign. And Santana and my memory hadn't been wrong; he was very good-looking, with his green eyes and dark, styled hair. Oh, and then we had the fact that he had been able to find his way to my apartment. All in all, it was going well from the start.

I invited him in and we hugged semi-awkwardly – he smelled nice – before he stepped in. He complimented the place and I thanked him.

Like I remembered from the soberer part of the evening I had spent with him, he was nice and easy to talk to. We chatted lightly for some time, the small stuff like music and movie preferences, and found similarities in our taste. Like me he enjoyed theater, a plus, and he had a rather vivid taste in music as well – from top forty to jazz and blues.

After talking a bit and shaking the initial awkwardness, that always followed on a first date, off us, we decided to go. We kept up the light conversation as we walked. He was funny, too, and I found myself laughing easily. His adjective-use, which I had been worried about, turned out to not be immaturity, but enthusiasm.

We found a café that looked nice and went inside, ordering coffee. He insisted on paying, and I argued that I was the one who had asked him out, to which he said that it was technically him that had initiated it. In the end, with a smile, I let him.

It was going so well. He was nice, smelled nice, looked nice. Yet something was nagging me, something in the back of my head that bothered me, like a fly buzzing in the background of a conversation.

I ignored it, though, and we settled down at a table as he told me about his job – he was a psychologist specializing in troubled kids. Frankly, it was fascinating. So, I listened and commented, and afterwards, when he asked me about my job, I told him all about my shop and career and passion.

And right when I started talking, and he took a sip of his coffee looking politely interested, was when I realized – with a sinking feeling in my gut. I realized all the things that felt out of place; _wrong._

Because while he would look polite and nod when I talked, he wouldn't have that glint in his eye that told me I could keep talking forever and he would never stop listening or be interested.

He didn't answer exactly what I needed him to even when I didn't know I needed it.

He didn't do that little gesture with his hands when he spoke, and his eyes wouldn't widen when he spoke about something that he was particularly passionate about.

He was nicely dressed, but not in cute bowties or folded denim jeans.

He smelled nice, but his scent didn't have that mix of sweet and earthy, and it didn't make my entire body relax, despite how dizzying it was.

He was good-looking, but he didn't have dark curls, gently gelled down, or plump lips or golden eyes that would sometimes change color.

And most importantly, his eyes weren't the most earnest and sincere I had ever seen in my life. They didn't have their own language that both frustrated and fascinated me to no end.

I swallowed thickly, and suddenly felt sick.

It felt wrong, because he wasn't Blaine.

In that moment, ladies and gentlemen, that moment was the moment I realized how naïve I had been to think that befriending Blaine Anderson wouldn't cause me to fall for him. That moment I realized that it wasn't just some harmless crush that I could transfer onto someone else.

That moment I realized that I was screwed. Officially.

* * *

 **A/N  
?**


	7. Chapter 7

**N &T **

**A/N**

 **Hey you guys! So, are you still with me? Because I feel like it's been forever, which it probably has, too, and I'm just so sorry, but life is crazy! I really hope you're still reading, though! Sorry for mistakes, I'm only me - and a tired version of me, too ;)**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

 **Chapter 7**

I hadn't even realized that I had stopped speaking.

"Kurt?"

I looked at him startled, sucking in a breath of air. Telling him would be all kinds of pathetic – especially after our first encounter. I shook my head. "Sorry," I said, and hurried to keep talking. If he noticed something was off afterwards, he didn't let it show. Just like me.

Alec was really pleasant. We talked for a long time, about small things and semi-big things. He spoke a bit about his childhood – regular kid with regular parents, who had accepted his sexuality right away. We were both not from New York City – his parents came from a suburban to the city – and we talked a lot about our first impressions and dreams of the big apple when we were younger. We had a lot in common as well, our love for theater and fashion, and we were both stupid drunks (at that subject I had laughed sheepishly, and he had simply shrugged it off with an easy smile, stating that he was not entirely innocent either.)

He should be perfect. He _was_ perfect. It didn't make the sick feeling in my gut any better.

"Ah, it's getting late," he said an hour later, glancing at the clock on the wall. "I need to get home, I have errands to run." I nodded in understanding, but hated the idea of being left on my own. "But hey, I really enjoyed myself," and, oh no, how the hell was I going to explain this to him? "I would really like to see you again. If- you'd like."

And the way he said that - it should have been endearing. It should have made me smile and my stomach flip, while I vigorously agreed. It didn't. It made me all kinds of guilty. Part of me wanted to lie and agree, but that would both give him false hope and make me even more aware of my feelings towards someone else completely.

"Look, Alec," I said awkwardly, and looked down. "You're really great, but…"

"Oh, no," he laughed, though his eyes looked disappointed. "Yeah, it's okay I know the drill, Kurt."

"No, no," I hurried to say. "It's just, I'm- if I were sane I'd die to see you again – oh and I want to by the way, as friends, but still," he chuckled, and eased up a bit. And didn't let me finish.

"So what is it, just out of a relationship? Or pining for someone else?"

I bit my lip. "The worse of the two," I said quietly.

"So the latter," he nodded, and it killed me to see that his face turned slightly hurt. "Was I the substitute?"

I wanted to lie so badly, but his eyes made it impossible. He wanted the truth. "In some ways," I said. "But Alec, trust me, it's me who's fucked up. You're-"

"Great," he finished with a nod and a smile. "Thanks Kurt."

"Is it too much for me to ask for your phone number? I kinda feel like you and I could be awesome friends?" I asked hesitantly. "Of course only if you don't hate me now, which would be totally understandable-"

"Kurt, of course," he said with an eye roll. "Awesome friends sound good, anyway."

I smiled appreciatively.

"So, who is the guy?" he asked after we had switched phones.

I exhaled and let my face fall. It felt strangely amazing to not force some happy expression on it. "My best friend," I said in a monotone voice, and the severity of the problem hit me again. I hid my face fall into my arms on the table. "Oh God, I'm the stupidest human being on earth."

"Hey," he said, his voice filled with pity. The fact that I didn't mind only showed how pathetic I was at that moment. "You're not. It happens to everyone."

I just shook my head, my head still in my folded arms on the table. "I met him two weeks ago, and I was an idiot to not see where it would lead. And he's got a boyfriend." When I raised my head, he looked at me with an uncertain look. "Gosh, I'm pathetic, I'm so sorry. See, told you it was me who was fucked up." I laughed humorlessly.

"You're not fucked up, Kurt," he said.

"We first met at a bar where I got shitfaced and dragged you to my place to fuck you, before falling asleep the second after, and when you ask me out I tell you that I'm 'fucked' because I'm in love with my best friend, whom I've only known for two weeks and has a boyfriend to make it all better. Yes, I am, Alec, and you are allowed to go and think whatever you wish about me. God knows you would have good reason to."

"Well, sucks for you that I happen to be a decent guy," he shrugged, and he was right. If only that was enough for me. "You are gonna go home and I am gonna call you, and we will meet up again as friends. And then we can be the awesomest friends ever. And then I'm gonna meet this 'best friend' of yours. Just so that I can- see this situation from all perspectives rather than the pathetic one you just gave me."

I couldn't help but smile sadly at his words. "See? You're amazing. Why can't I be the normal guy, who falls for an amazing guy like you, who isn't taken, who isn't so-" And instead of finishing I just exhaled, because there was really no way to describe Blaine and the way he made me feel. And if I tried I would probably come out as even more pathetic, and extremely sappy, too.

"The heart wants what the heart wants," he simply shrugged with a sad smile of his own. "But I must say that I'm sad this best friend of your stole your heart before I could." I nearly blushed at his words. "He's very lucky, you know?"

I huffed and looked away. "Yeah."

"I'm serious," he insisted and I gave him a weak smile. "Now," he stood up and offered me his hand. "Go home. Sleep. You'll feel better in the morning."

I sighed before taking his hand and letting him pull me up. "Thanks Alec," I said with a smile. He reciprocated with his own wide one. "And hey, just to be clear, I really enjoyed today as well."

"I know," he said. "And I expect to hear from you. Or else you will from me."

I chuckled and nodded. "You bet."

And with one last wave he was out of the café, leaving me with my own confused, pathetic head.

The way home wasn't exactly pleasant. I chose to take the subway even though it would only take fifteen minutes to walk. I guess I hoped I would get slightly distracted in the train, which wasn't actually stupid; there were always strange types in the subway trains. Unluckily for me, not anyone distracting enough – the woman with the giant pink bow on her head was the closest I got, though.

I knew I needed to stop distracting myself, but that was what I naturally did; I ignored the problem at hand, procrastinated it, simply distracting myself from it. I couldn't anymore though.

I swallowed when I allowed the thoughts to erupt in my head. I was an idiot. I had been the most naïve fool, and it embarrassed me that I hadn't seen it coming.

Now, just to be clear, this wasn't some moment that you see in those ridiculous movies, where the handsome boy suddenly, out of exactly nowhere, decides he's in love with the beautiful girl. I _knew_ I was crushing on Blaine. That I had been for a long time. I _knew_ that he had meant more to me than friends normally did. What I hadn't known was how much.

I had thought that I could simply go out and find a guy to remove the feelings I had for Blaine. I had thought that it wasn't that bad, because it was only a normal crush.

So, yeah, maybe it _was_ like in those movies; I was realizing that I wasn't simply having a crush on my best friend. I was in love with him. And I realized that there was a huge difference.

I let myself into my apartment with a sigh. It felt so big and empty. It made my gut churn uncomfortably, because I knew who I missed. For a few moments I considered calling someone, but then I thought about the possibilities.

If I called Rachel she would look at me pitifully, though still with that 'I had so seen this coming' look in her eye. And then she would tell me all about how I had to take her more seriously and blah, blah, blah.

If I called Danni she would bring Elliot, and I was not going to be third wheel. Besides, being surrounded by love right now was not what I needed. I guess I could ask her not to bring him, or vice versa, but then I would ruin their date night.

Santana was just not an option.

And my dad would probably worry too much if I called him, and I didn't want that.

Blaine… I didn't even know how I was going to face him – was it going to be different? Was I going to blurt out everything and ruin our friendship? I stopped myself before I got ridiculous. No. Things wouldn't change. I had suppressed my feelings when I was with him for long now, and no matter how conflicted I felt, he would always somehow, for some strange reason, make relax and me feel better. But it was still too soon. I had to sleep before I could see him again, and I knew it.

At the thought of sleep, I had to suppress a yawn. I hadn't even realized how drained I felt on top of everything. It was a good thing, I assumed. At least I got some sleep. Even if, when I slept, the only thing I dreamt of was golden eyes and easy smiles.

I didn't feel up for anything that next day. I felt exhausted and, well, physically sick – though I knew it was probably just because the weird state I was in mentally. I called work, though, and did something I had never done before. I asked Danni if they could make do without me today.

"Just leave the rest of the deliveries for me to take care of tomorrow if you don't make it," I had said, and she had agreed instantly, sounding worried. Hopefully she simply believed I was sick. Luckily Santana was at work, so she wouldn't come crashing in like I knew she wanted to the moment Danni told her I was 'sick'. She was smarter than that – when concerning me, anyway.

I didn't even know what the hell I was doing. If I were acting like some kind of my normal self, I would jump at the chance of work – to distract myself. I couldn't do it anymore, though. I was tired of distractions.

So that day I did something else I never did. Wallowed. I didn't change out of my pajamas, and I didn't shower. I simply walked took my comforter, got some leftovers in the fridge from yesterday, trotted my way to the TV – barefoot – and watched the marathon of Project Runway. And to my surprise it felt way better than I had ever expected it to. In some strange way, it helped.

I guess the time read 3-ish – I had fallen in and out of sleep a couple of times – when someone knocked on the door. I groaned loudly. Oh, God, was Santana seriously using her break to go and see me? If so, I would kill her. Or maybe Rachel had heard that I was feeling ill and- but no she had rehearsal. Frowning about whom the hell would interrupt my sulking I slumped my way to the door, opening it carelessly. Before I even got to feel my heartbeat increase or my stomach to swoop he was walking in.

"Kurt seriously, do you have any idea how worried I've been? You can't just promise me to call and then don't – which at first I thought was a good sign, but then not really, because I knew how you felt about sleeping with people on your first date – and then don't show up for work either," he rambled, and I couldn't help the warmth his words elicited.

"How do you know I didn't show up for work?" I simply said, making my way back to the couch.

"I came by because you didn't call yesterday, and Santana told me you were sick, and she had this suspicious tone when she said it and-"

"Okay, okay, I get it, I'm sorry," I said, letting myself back into the safe cocoon I had made with my comforter.

"Right," he said, following me hesitantly. "Well, now that I'm done being mad at you, what happened? You're not okay."

I eyed him resignedly, and how the hell did he expect me to tell him that?

"Did he- oh my God, did he do anything to you-"

"No," I said, feeling a small smile creep up on my face at the absurdity of that. "No, of course not, Mr. McWorrypants."

"Good one," he said with an eye roll.

I smiled, but felt it fade quickly. He approached me with a worried look and sat on the armrest of my couch. "Then what happened? Was he a douche? Is that it? And why couldn't you tell me?" He actually sounded hurt now, and gosh, if only you knew, Blaine Anderson.

"He wasn't a douche," I said drily. "He was perfect."

I could practically feel Blaine's confused look on me, but kept my gaze stiffly at the TV. "So… did he ditch you?"

" _No_ ," I said.

"Kurt, honey, I'm so confused here," he said, his tone soft. I had to look at him at the endearment. His brow was furrowed in confusion and worry, and oh god, those stupid eyes shouldn't be legal.

"He just-" I couldn't lie to him. Something in me simply couldn't get the words out when I tried to lie to him. It was like I was physically unable to. "He just wasn't _it_ , Blaine," I said. I didn't look at him. I couldn't right then, afraid he might guess who said ' _it'_ then was.

I felt arms around me seconds after, and I felt it as though something heavy fell off my shoulders. I relaxed instantly, and scooted involuntarily into the embrace. And that scent…

He didn't say anything. Either he didn't understand, or he thought he did. I was okay with both.

"You will find him, you know?" he said quietly after some time, and oh okay, so he thought he understood. "He might not be just around the corner, but Kurt I assure you someone very lucky is out there for you. You are not broken like you think you are."

And because I couldn't think of anything else, "How do you know I think that?" Even if it was in the wrong context, he was, once again, completely right about me.

He simply smiled sadly and shrugged. "I guess I've been getting to know you these past few weeks, bestie," he said, and at the mild teasing I had to look up at him and smile. He squeezed me before letting go. I hated how much I hated that he did. "Now! I've come prepared. I knew that there was a possibility that you would be some kind of down, so I brought ice cream," I looked at him hopefully. "Yes, the expensive stuff that you love."

"Blaine Anderson, you are the best thing that ever happened to me," I said, and hated how much I meant it. I hated a lot of things at the moment, it seemed.

He simply smiled a satisfied grin. "And I brought crappy rom-coms that we are going to watch together."

I shook my head slightly and smiled incredulously. Could you really blame me for being in love with this idiot?

"And you can't say no," he said, and rose from his seat. I had to smile when I heard his low humming as he did whatever in my kitchen.  
'Whatever' turned out to be putting the ice cream in bowls – the biggest I had – and making us coffee. He handed me the biggest portion with a smile, and I just rolled my eyes fondly and took it.

"You're unbelievable," I sighed, and he ignored me.

"Romeo and Juliet, The Notebook, When Harry Met Sally or Moulin Rouge?" he asked and held out the four DVD's.

"Where the hell did you even get Romeo and Juliet? Isn't it like ancient?"

"Why, yes, and therefore it would be the perfect opportunity to practice our English accents, think you not?" he asked with a devilish smile, and a horrible accent.

"No," I simply said and he laughed. I chose The Notebook because When Harry Met Sally would remind me way too much of Blaine and I – without the whole 'getting together in the end' scenario – and Moulin Rouge would make all kinds of unstable when they sung Come What May – also what I believed to be the absolute best love song in the world.

"You better eat up," he said after he had planted the DVD in the player, eyeing the ice cream. I rolled my eyes exaggeratedly and took a huge spoonful before cringing because of the cold. He nodded approvingly and started eating himself.

Ice cream and sappy romantic movies helped a lot more than I thought possible. The ice cream disappeared quickly, though, and so did the coffee. But the moment I had placed the empty bowl and cup on the coffee table, Blaine held out his arm.

"C'mere," he said with his soft voice, and though I knew it was a bad idea, I curled into his embrace, inhaling his amazing scent, because it was impossible _not_ to. I placed my head in the crook of his neck, fitting there perfectly. He let a hand draw lazy patterns into my arm, and it sent chills all the way down my spine.

I let myself enjoy the heat of his body and the scent of him and the way his touch was so gentle and relaxing. I closed my eyes briefly and ignored the stabbing fact that it didn't mean what I wanted it to – and when I say stabbing, I mean stabbing. I focused on the film instead of my thoughts, focused on the beat of his heart and the sound of his breathing. I focused on how warm and safe and content I felt.  
And I decided, in that moment, that I didn't care if Blaine never reciprocated my feelings. I needed him in my life, I needed the safety I felt around him and the comfort he brought me. If friends were the only thing we would ever be, so be it.

I would take whatever I could get.

For some reason I felt slightly irritated at Santana the next day at work. She kept questioning me about the date and asking about the day prior – she knew very well that I never took a day off. And in some ways I felt it was her fault, even though I knew it wasn't. She was the one to push me on that date.

"That's it, Hummel, tell me," she said after Danni had left the cashier, and leaving the two of us. "Did he do anything?"

"Why do people ask me that?" I said, and she looked confused. Ups. Telling her about Blaine being in my apartment yesterday probably wasn't a good idea. "No, he was very nice, okay?"

"So it went well?"

"I guess you can say that."

"You're not making any sense, Boss."

I sighed and clenched my jaw. "Fine, let me cut it out for you." Her eyes widened at my suddenly harsh tone. "Your little plan to get me to date Alec? It backfired. You were _right_ , I am in love with Blaine, woohoo, go tell the world how right you were, or babble about your third Mexican eye, say I told you so or be smug, but please do it somewhere I can't see or hear it because I'm _not interested."_

She seemed startled at my outburst, her mouth hanging slightly open before she composed herself. Her voice was softer when she spoke. "Fine, okay, sorry, but don't come here and pretend I didn't do you a favor."

"What are you talking about, Satan?" I said, annoyed.

"Look, if it wasn't for me you would still go around and think that that Blaine-guy was simply 'your best friend' and that those things you feel with him were completely natural."

"And what would be so wrong with that?" I asked, not looking at her.

"You're serious? _Everything_ is wrong with that, Kurt!" I looked at her when she used my first name. "You need to _stop_ ignoring how you feel, _stop_ distracting yourself from it. _Be_ in it for God's sake. You can't live like that, pretending the world doesn't spin."

I knew she was right of course. I rested my elbows on the table and hid my face in my hands in defeat. "I'm so screwed, Satan," I mumbled. "He has a _boyfriend_. He's all sorts of- just- _Blaine_." I directed my gaze at her. She stood with a resigned look on her face, for once not knowing what to say. "When I'm with him, Satan, I just- everything feels _right_. I'm so safe. The mere presence of him calms me down." I sighed and shook my head. "But I have to live with it, Satan. I _need_ him. As my best friend- it's just that… as long as he's around, I don't think I'll be able to find someone else. I _can't_ find someone else without constantly thinking of _him._ I learned that yesterday. I'm twenty-seven, Satan. How much longer can I pretend I don't need anyone?"

Santana obviously didn't know what to say. That was the first time I had ever confessed how I truly felt about that subject to anyone. She stared at me for a few seconds before making a move to stand beside me, looking around the shop. I had all but forgotten where we were. "So be his friend," she said quietly. "You're right, you need him. I have never seen you so the way you are when you're with Blaine. Kurt- he may have a boyfriend, but… the way he looks at you. I don't believe that that's nothing."

"Santana, that's not helping," I said with a bitter smile.

"I know," she said, and I looked at her. Instead of saying anymore, she sent me a look before walking to a customer. She turned around before she got there. "It's two. You're done for the day," she said.

"Santana?" I called out before she got away. She looked at me expectantly. "Don't tell Rach that I didn't show up for work yesterday, okay?"

She nodded shortly before leaving.

I made myself relax completely that day at yoga. My body moved into every position with ease after years of practice, so I didn't focus on anything other than our director's soft-spoken words and how my muscles ached yet still relaxed as I pushed them harder than I normally did.

Rachel of course wanted to hear all about my date at our coffee-date. I had decided to tell her the story it told Blaine – I didn't feel like exposing myself two times on one day, especially to Rachel. I told her he wasn't _it_ , but that he was great. If she saw the way I looked down when I said _it_ , she didn't comment on it.

"What are you doing for thanksgiving?"

It was Thursday night, and Blaine and I were sitting on my couch, about to do our annual Harry Potter reading – we had finished the first book the day before, and were now at the start of book two.

He seemed startled at the question. "Well," he said and looked at his hands. "My- parents are out traveling, so I guess I'll crash at Wes and Britt's place or maybe just have a quiet night alone."

My heart broke a little bit at the statement, and I noticed the hesitation when he said the word 'parents'. It also made me confused, and made me think of something I had never even thought about. "Where's Paul anyway? I haven't seen him at all in the past weeks. We can't be too happy that you're at my place almost every evening." I wanted to point out how he never mentioned his boyfriend, but felt like I shouldn't.

As always when we would talk about his personal life, he became uncertain and uneasy. "Oh, he's out traveling. He's a big deal in the engineer business and travels a lot. Right now he's in England."

"Oh, wow," I said, genuinely surprised. I had never even thought about what Paul did – I had always just assumed it was something high-end. "That must be hard for you."

He shrugged, still obviously uncomfortable. "I'm used to it." And that was that. I wanted so desperately to ask more, to know why he was so uneasy at the subject of his boyfriend. I mean, weren't that supposed to be your favorite subject – you boyfriend? I wanted to kill Rachel sometimes because she kept going on about Finn, and don't even get me started on Danni after she had met Elliot. Something had to be wrong, I wasn't stupid, but I was dying to know what. And at the same time I felt all sorts of worried.

I didn't ask though. Not only because I was afraid he might close up on me, but because talking about his boyfriend hurt.

"Well, if you'd like, my dad informed me to tell you that you're welcome to join us at our place," I said, and he seemed relieved at the change of subject. "Finn and Rach will be there, too, as well as my dad and my stepmother, and I need someone to make me feel like I'm not a fifth wheel." I prayed that didn't come out flirty. Then I remembered it was Blaine, and that he never noticed anyway.

He was suddenly startled, his mouth slightly open. "Your dad said I could come for thanksgiving?" I might have told him how sacred my dad was about family traditions. Damn him for remembering everything I told him.

I nodded, trying to look as casual as possible. "Yeah. We spoke over the phone the other day, and I told him about my new bestie. And he said he would like to meet you." I was just about to tell him about the whole 'his parents live in Westerville' part of it, but decided against it.

He seemed all sorts of flabbergasted at the thought, and it made something clench in me again – I hated to think how amazed he got when someone wanted him there. "I would really like to, then," he nodded with a small, hesitant smile, as if he was waiting for me to take the invitation back. "I mean, if you're sure?"

"Of course," I said with a smile and nodded. "Ah, it's gonna be great not feeling like a fifth wheel the entire time for once."

He smiled widely at me, chuckling slightly, and I had to look away since it did weird things to my chest.

"Now, lay down and let yourself surrender to the velvety voice of one Blaine Anderson," he said, and I snorted at him. He was right, of course, but the feigned superior expression he wore was ridiculous – partly because it looked so foreign on his face.  
I did as told, though. I took a pillow and placed it on his right thigh, resting my head against it. He let the book rest along my head, and I smiled. This had become normality for us.

He cleared his throat dramatically, and I rolled my eyes. He nudged my face with the book, feigning offense, and I smiled teasingly at him. Then he started reading, and I felt the familiar warm, content feeling in me increase. I liked to call that emotion 'Blaine'.

And as I lay and listened to his voice tell the magical story, I thought that being friends with him, and nothing more, maybe wasn't so hard after all. Maybe it wouldn't hurt as much as I had thought. I let the feeling he gave me lull me into relaxation, and thought that everything was going to be just like before. Nothing had to change.

At first it went like expected. The days passed as before; Blaine would come over nearly every night and we would read or eat or talk or watch movies. We would hug goodbye and my heart would flutter, and then I would go to bed alone.

Only after a few weeks, I got better and better at understanding Blaine. I slowly started to pick up on his guarded eyes, learned to read them better – or understand them, since they were so expressive, like they were actually talking.  
I knew after three weeks that that little flip-of-his-wrist-gesture he would make meant he was excited about something. I knew that when his eyes widened he would mean whatever he said a little more than usual. I knew the look he would get in his eyes when he was teasing, but meant what he said.

And I knew the way his face would smoothen, and his eyes would become more golden than brown when he talked or looked about something particularly precious to him.

Now, the problem with this was that I could swear that sometimes his eyes would get that golden glow when he looked at me, and his face would relax in that characteristic way. I figured it was something my mind – desperate as it was – simply read in the wrong way but it didn't stop it from being all sorts of frustrating _not_ to lean over and kiss him, to learn how his plump lips would feel against my skin and-

I had to stop.

I unclenched my jaw slowly and let my head fall against the wall in my living room. Blaine had just left for the evening with a lingering hug goodbye. I sighed at the intense longing in my stomach that would always follow after Blaine left. I shook it off me, though, and got ready for bed. I did my routine extra meticulously that night, dreading the moment I had to lie in my empty, too big bed. Like every night. I pushed through it, though, and got comfortable. I fell asleep relatively fast…

 _"_ _Kurt?"_

 _I looked up startled from where I was counting the cashier. In front of me stood Blaine, hair gelled slightly, letting only a few curls spring free. His eyes glistened beautifully as he approached me, and I had to suck in a breath of air. First then I realized how dark it was around me. No one else was around._

 _"_ _Blaine?" I said, but couldn't stop the small smile as he came closer. "What are you doing here?"_

 _"_ _I had to stop by," his voice was low and earnest, and his smile was so beautiful that I felt my knees weaken. "I had to- do something."_

 _"_ _W-what?" I stammered, because he was slowly coming closer, making everything slightly hazy._

 _"_ _So beautiful," he whispered, and I closed my eyes involuntarily as he stroked me cheek with his finger. He was so close. I could practically taste his smell, so intoxicating, so delicious. When I reopened my eyes he was closer. I could see every eyelash on his wide, stunning eyes. I noticed the way his eyes flickered down to my lips before I felt his own on mine slightly parted ones._

 _Everything stopped as I kissed him back, instantly grapping the curls in his neck and letting out a humming moan. He reciprocated feverishly, and my world spun as our kiss grew more and more heated._

 _I didn't know how, but I had ended up on the counter, Blaine between my legs. His hands were everywhere, in my hair, on my cheek, on my waist._

 _"_ _So, so beautiful," he would hum when he pulled away to kiss down my jaw. I stuttered for air. I felt like I had run a marathon._

 _"_ _Blaine…"_

 _He looked up at me with wide blown eyes, and I felt everything in me tighten. "Don't worry, I'll take care of you, Kurt," he said, and attacked my lips again._

 _His hands wandered, and I told him to hurry, pleading. His hands went lower and lower, against my chest, my ribs, my stomach down to my belly bottom and-_

I woke up with a light gasp, looking around, flustered. My heart was racing, and my blood throbbed under my skin- or wait… that was only centered to one place, wasn't it? Panting I threw back my head, feeling all sorts of disgusting and mortified. I had had dreams about Blaine before but never… _those_ kind of dreams. Blaine was supposed to be my _friend_ , how- but oh no, no, thinking about Blaine in this state was a bad idea. It made my body react in ways I had never experienced before. In ways it shouldn't.

Still, my body was screaming at me in frustration, the blood throbbing painfully in my boxers. Fine. I closed my eyes defiantly, and thought about everything I could think about. I thought about all the porn I had ever watched – which really wasn't that much – and all the guys I had hooked up with – which, again, really weren't that many. I thought about everything but the one thing my body ached for. And it did work up until the very end, where all I could see was those dark eyes directed at me, so lustful, yet so earnest.

I didn't feel any less pathetic and repulsive after. My hand and underwear was sticky and disgusting, and I mostly just wanted to hide forever. I had just fantasized – _sexually –_ about my best friend. It wasn't rare that I sometimes stared a bit too long on his thin waist and slightly broader shoulders, or drooled a bit about his impeccable backside, but I had never dreamt about it that way. And I had never used it to get off. Until now.

I swallowed as my breathing subsided. I got in the shower and scrubbed my body extra thoroughly.

Honestly what could you expect? Blaine was all kinds of sinfully gorgeous with his short, but muscled legs and his narrow – oh, so narrow – waist. And we had gotten quite physical, in the friendly way. It wasn't untypical for us to hold hands now and then, and we cuddled while watching TV all the time. While reading Harry Potter it had become routine for us to lie in each other's laps while the other read. It made the reading even better to feel his body warmth so close to me, and sometimes he would let his finger trace my hairline absentmindedly… I stopped my thought before my body could react again – I was standing naked in the shower, after all.

This still couldn't change anything, though. It couldn't. It all made it so much harder to be around Blaine, but I had to endure it. And in honesty I knew that when I first had been in his company for a while, his calming personality made it all a bit easier. Sometimes I would even forget the internal struggle.

I had to push through it. I assured myself that after a few months- okay, maybe years, I would get used to the feeling so much that I didn't even notice anymore. And it would probably break my heart – even the thought of Blaine marrying Paul someday made everything in me writhe and churn – I knew that it was worth it. I didn't mind spending a lifetime pining after my best friend as long as he was there. Having Blaine in my life was worth every bit of pain.

* * *

 **A/N  
So, whatta you say? ;)**


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